An Unseen Future
by Eve-Providence
Summary: A tortured young woman is resuced by Arthur and his knights. When the girl starts to fall in love with two knights, will her past with Saxons tear them apart or will the knights be willing to forgive her? GalahadOCTristan
1. Author's Note

An Unseen Future

Author's Note:

After seeing the movie King Arthur, I became enthralled by Tristan and Galahad. I began weaving a story around the younger knight, but felt that I had abandoned the other. I began thinking of new ways to include both of my favorite characters, the lone wolf and the brash youngster. I wanted them to fall in love with a girl, but only one could have her. I didn't want the choice to be made by death, but with connections one saw, the other ignored and the girl took no notion of. As I began to memorize and connect and explore the Knights of Badon Hill, I became more aware of the timeless classic of the triangle love. I soon gave up that idea, because both knights would be unwilling to take the girl back if she bedded both. Then it became the importance of the enemies that surrounded Britain. Rome, Saxon and Woad erupted with new meaning and I found myself contemplating which one she should be. As it is, the end of the story will change her life, her background forgotten. But the importance of her heritage is for the first meeting between Tristan and Galahad, and how that affects their feelings.

The second thing I had to wonder over was her name, but not just any name. It had to mean something. I finally realized I would have to pull it from within the legends itself. There is of course the love of Tristan and that tragic tale, but I quickly let her name die. I went than to the name that rang most in my ear, Elaine. I decided however, by love of fantasy, to create a new Elaine. Inevitably, it became Elayne. But the story of Elayne has only one connection with Galahad. She bedded with Lancelot and was mother to Galahad. But since they were not married, Galahad was a bastard and Lancelot left for Guinevere. Elayne spent the rest of her days plotting revenge to kill Lancelot. Of course, I knew the name but not the connection and it wasn't until I was halfway done with the story that I figured out the really truth between the two. I figured though, the fact that the movie switched so many instances and people around, saying they all changed over the eras through legends, that I should do the same. Therefore, I give you An Unseen Future, where the truth of Elayne, Galahad and Tristan are revealed.


	2. By Sin She's Bound

Chapter 1- By Sin She's Bound

They bound her hands with irons, the cold metal biting into her wrists. The Roman soldier sneered down at her, laughing at his newfound captor. The girl limply followed when he tugged at the chain, her brown dirt clot hair falling into her eyes. Her gray eyes were once havens to heaven itself, a clear blue opening at the center, spreading apart the storms of rage. Now they were clouded, swirling hurricanes of torment and anger mixing together. The cold earth sent sharp prickles in her feet as they walked out of the woods. The three soldiers accompanying her paid her no heed to her pain, gave no ministrations to her growling stomach, churning mind or crumbling body. They all walked stately, with their bronze chests gleaming dully, their red capes flashing crimson grimness. The girl stumbled, catching her foot against a rock. Cursing as she felt her skin break, a soldier whacked his arm along the back of her neck.

"Keep walking whore!" he shouted. The girl lifted her head, glaring profoundly at the man. At an instant, she watched the man's mock smugness crumble. But then the sardonic thrill of beating the girl senseless returned. He lifted his arm again, but his companion caught his arm in midair.

"Let Marius deal with her," he scorned. At the sound of another voice, the girl raised her head. But her savior gave her no recognition. Small snow flurries began fluttering down when the girl gazed through the haze and fog at the small village that appeared. Small hovels aligned the dirt-ridden ground to the stonewall. The girl could only imagine that Marius was the man who lived in luxury behind the wall. She could already see the established house and courtyard. She frowned in frustration and finally wished to acquire.

"Marius, is he the leader of this village?" the soldier looked down at her in contempt. The girl was too late to realize her mistake. "Does he think he's a god or something, adorning his house with treasures while the villagers are slaves?" The man grabbed her by the rags hanging from her body, pulling her close to him.

"Marius is a Roman spokesman for God. His law and rule are orders from the church itself. Any who defy him defy the Lord!" The girl smugly turned from the soldier, holding her head high as they walked closer to the village. Men and women both stopped their work. Ghastly, bleak faces gazed up at the girl for hope, for any sign of freedom. But the girl could give none. She blinked away tears as the smog hovering in the sky stung her eyes. A young man with short hair looked at her dirty face, his equally filthy, and then down in dismay. Two soldiers keeping watch on top of the wall clanked their spears against their shields.

"State your business," one commanded. The soldier holding the girl's chains yanked back sharply, and then harshly pushed forward. The girl was instantly knocked to the ground.

"Another sinner for Marius, wait till you hear of this one," the other called back with a lustful smile on his face. The girl gasped with a frightened look pasted cleanly on her face. She winced as she slowly rose to her feet. In a chaotic wave the brown haired serf ran to the girl's aid while two patrolling soldiers grabbed him and threw him to the ground. In the meantime the other soldiers called for Marius, while the other Roman who held the girl's chains pulled her back up roughly, tearing the skin from her wrists. She cried out as the wooden doors banged open. A short, stout man with dark hair and eyes came out dressed in Roman robes. The girl stared up at him with a blank expression. He glared down at her with provoking eyes. She announced her flowering anger with sharp eyes back to him. His dark eyes scanned both of the soldiers flanking either side of her.

"What are her sins?" he asked in a penetrating and poignant voice. The girl's head shot up, her lips curling in a menacing snarl.

"We found her forgotten by the remains of a village sacked by Saxons. She herself is Saxon, believing in a demon god and giving herself to men to live." The soldier who spoke spat the words in disgust. "This girl has committed adultery my lord." Marius eyed the girl up and down, spotting a quickly swiped away trail of blood running down her leg, confirming his suspicions. His eyes bulged, he stepped forward as an aging woman, and clearly Roman with long dark hair came out quickly behind him. A young boy, by the girl's thought the son of the couple, walked briskly behind his mother, only a few years younger than the girl.

Marius looked down at her with beady eyes. "Adultery is a sin with the punishment of flogging. You do know this?" The girl remained lifeless in her face. "But committed more than once is death." She showed no restraint or fear. Marius continued, "It is God's will that you be punished for your sins. Do you deny God by acknowledging these crimes?" The girl stubbornly looked away from Marius' imploring eye. The soldier thrust the butt of his sword into her back, making her look up.

"I deny nothing. Know only that any God who punishes instead of forgives is no God of mine." The girl's loud, audible voice made heads turn. Marius backed away. He considered her and finally waved his hand. A soldier disappeared back in the safety of the sheltered wall. Marius nodded to the soldiers behind the girl. Each took one length of the chains that connected to each arm of the girl. They both backed up until her arms were hovering in the air. When the soldier returned, he carried with him a thick black whip, the leather incased in blood. The girl gasped in shock and with wide eyes looked to Marius.

"It is God's will that the sinners be sacrificed as an example." A small grin tugged at his lips. The soldiers pulled hard on the girl's arms till she heard her shoulders pop out of place. However, despite the pain she didn't scream until the whip cracked on her back. The shock that ran traveled down her spine and made the girl shriek in pain. The cold leather sprang back unto the air, tearing apart her flesh from her back. Marius calmly, and almost with a face of amusement, held his hands behind his back, holding out a hand against his protesting wife. The girl looked up to see a pang of distant sympathy wave of the woman's face. She bowed her head again with tears running down her cheeks. The pain shattered her mind, broke down her weak body even more. She heard between her cries of agony the protests of the villagers, but the soldiers held them at bay with their weapons. Each crack of the whip in the air made her bite her lip, a second later her head sprang up into the air as the lasting scream echoed from her lips.

Blood was drilling down her back, the sweat pooling on her forehead and burning her eyes. She felt her broken skin rip away, clinging to the whip. Marius called for her to look up and numbly the girl obeyed. Marius' hand flew in the air and the girl clenched her jaw tightly. But the commands made the man stop, catching his breath as he sneered disconsolately. Marius came a few inches from the girl, eyeing each soldier who held onto her arms. They both simultaneously let go. The girl quickly set out her hand to stop her fall and with a blood-chilling crack and pop sent one of her shoulders back into position. Wailing in pain, she collapsed on the ground, sobbing as Marius bent down before her.

"What is your name?" he whispered. The girl glared up at him with eyes of fury. Marius glanced at his men. The one instantly yanked on her dislocated shoulder while the other raised the black snake of a whip that sent its poison of pain shooting through her back. The girl panicked, trying desperately to run but only gained in tearing her shoulder out more. It was as the man began to lower the whip that she shouted.

"My name is Elayne!" Marius smirked as the woman behind him scolded him with berating eyes. Marius motioned the soldiers' dismissal. All save the one who took the chains that bound the girl. Marius glanced over at his wife, his stare wiping the last remains of benevolence she had on her face.

"There is always a way of making sinners talk, right Elayne?" He spun back around to stare at the girl. Elayne looked down as she tried to wriggle free from his eyes. The blood trickled down her back and tears washed away the dirt from her face. "But sinners have to be given as an example," he repeated. He nodded his head to a stone doorway that jutted out from the wall leading underground. "Take her away," he commanded.

The soldier grinned as he tugged Elayne to her feet, dragging her across the ground to the doorway. Elayne found no reason to struggle. Her body ached in searing pain, her shoulder bobbing awkwardly at her side. She looked back over her shoulder to find two pairs of eyes on her. One was the serf with short hair. The other was the Roman boy. While one showed grief and sadness, compassion for Elayne, the other's face was masked with a confused glare covered in contempt. Elayne was suddenly engulfed in darkness, the last rays of light shinning on the chains and instruments of torture that hung from the ceiling inside the small cave. Elayne shuddered as she realized she had entered a makeshift dungeon. The soldier led her down the dark stairs into a dimly lit room.

It expanded into small low jail cells and little, barely breathable holes in the stone that were locked shut with iron bars. Elayne squirmed, as the form of a dead man seemed to jump at her from the shackles he was bound to. The heavy stench of death suddenly over powered her and Elayne retched on the ground. A monk jumped out of the way and bared his teeth at her. When Elayne dared to look up did the monk backhand her across the face, accusing her of sins Elayne didn't do. The soldier nudged her forward and Elayne slipped on the slick, wet blood of the previous victim mixing with her vomit.

The soldier continued to press on. Elayne glanced in one of the small holes carved into the stone. Through the iron cage a small pair of eyes peeked up at her. She gasped at the little blond boy, crushed and wedged into the small space. As she passed one of the cells, a young woman with dark eyes peeked through her cloak. She blinked wearily at Elayne, and then slipped back into unconsciousness.

"What kind of prison is this?" Elayne ventured to ask. The monk's head shot up. He grabbed a ring of keys and shoved Elayne into an empty cell. Clanging the cell shut and locking it, he stared down at Elayne. She twisted in pain as the grimy, cold stone slammed against her back. The shoulder she had managed to pop back into place ached furiously, but Elayne worried more about her other arm. She spat at the monk whose thinning hair and weasel eyes haunted her. He pointed a long, scrawny finger at her.

"It is because of you that this prison as created. It's your prison." As the soldier and monk stalked away, Elayne through her tears felt her mind darken. The nightly grimness traveled over her eyes until she collapsed on the ground beneath her, a dark face marked with black ink on his cheeks flashing in her head and then the call of another deep angered voice beat into her mind like a flap of hawk's wings.


	3. A Horrible Torment

Chapter 2- A Horrible Torment

The mumbling, incoherent words of the monk's chants woke Elayne back from a troubled sleep. For three days she once and again slipped out of nightmarish dreams and the world around her that punished her. Her back ached. The broken skin caked with dried blood and infections from the grim of vomit, waste and blood that gathered before her around the ground. The first days that Elayne spent prisoner were torture. She awoke at first to find the decaying body of the last victim staring at her with empty sockets. The rat chewing at his feet scrambled away at Elayne's piercing scream. A monk sprinted to her cell in hopes insanity had finally taken her. When he saw Elayne still alive, he took the opportunity to explain the death.

"He had his eyes taken out for his sins. He favored too many women." Elayne began gagging at the thought of the punishment. The monk slithered away as a vile taste erupted back into her throat. Elayne drank back the taste, trying as desperately as she could to remain away from the decayed body. Her back raked against the hard stone, sinking roughly into her wounds, breaking the skin again and bleeding down her back. Elayne rubbed her eyes as she awoke once more to the monk chanting. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, green glow that gathered round the tunnel room. Golden light shattered through the only window, scattering across Elayne's cell. She stepped lightly along the damp stone, crawling to the bars and catching the sunlight full in the face. Her eyes glittered with tears, the opening of the blue heavens glistening with the threatening anger in her eyes.

A shuffle suddenly made Elayne jump. As she looked across the room, the other young woman got as close as she could to the end of her cell in order to see Elayne. The monk off in the distance paid no attention, lighting a stick of incense to block the stench. The dark haired girl had eyes full of fury, her skin a pale ivory that clashed with Elayne's slightly tanner creamy skin from days in the wilderness. Elayne craned her head to see the woman stare at her.

"You've only been here a few days?" the girl asked. Elayne clearly marked her Woad and Britain by the accent that tipped her voice. Elayne nodded, still staring into the sun. A heavy cloud covered the ray of hope Elayne clung to and her hopes diminished in that second. She turned to the girl, faking a weak smile.

"And you, how long have you been here?" The girl winced as she moved her hand. Elayne noticed the limp wrappings that covered her hands were covering bruised and out of place fingers. She grimaced slightly, remembering her shoulder that still hung lamely from her body.

"I've been here so long I lost count," she replied. Her eyes locked with Elayne's. "And so the forces of Britain finally unite. Roman, Saxon and Woad. Perhaps we _can_ overcome them." A dreamy look came to her eye. Elayne shook her head.

"And then what, have Sarmatian knights rescue us. The Saxons will not unite with anyone," Elayne said sarcastically. The girl smugly looked away from Elayne, but the other girl didn't regret her words.

"I meant us. The Woads will not unite with the Saxons either. But you don't need an army to change something," the girl retorted back with sourly. She rubbed her temples, blinking wildly as her head spun. Resting her head on her curled knees, she meekly said, "You know of the Sarmatian knights?" Elayne nodded.

"Rumors spread. Of men who were granted life by Romans in exchange to be locked away and bound as their servants of winning battles. I know who I am, but I will go against my country by saying I will aid any Sarmatian knight that wants Rome gone." Elayne was embarrassed by her sudden outburst and idly began picking the dirt off her fingernails. "I do not follow the ways of the Saxons. I hope still to find a leader I can faithfully follow," she stated proudly. The other girl considered her and Elayne fidgeted and moved away.

"My name is Guinevere." Elayne watched the girl fade back in and out of sleep, but Guinevere managed to stay awake.

"I'm Elayne," she answered back with. A sharp bang made both girls spin towards the doorway. A soldier accompanied by Marius came down. Marius was dressed from head to foot in ropes, his mouth and nose covered with a dark black strip of wool to avoid the smell. Elayne watched Guinevere crawl out of the distance and she too followed her example. Marius took one glance at her cocked head, her wide eyes beckoning for answers. Elayne locked her jaw stiffly. Her expressionless face troubled Marius.

"Take out the boy," Marius commanded. The soldier snatched the keys from where the monk hid them. Another guard gruffly stalked down the stairs. Elayne instantly recognized him to be the one who had whipped her. She glared at him, the knuckles of her hands growing white as she wrung them around the bars. Marius motioned to Elayne as he sniffed disagreeably to the stench. The soldier clenched his jaw but obeyed. The other man handed him the keys and he began unlocking Elayne's cell. She glanced from him to the boy who whimpered when the soldier harshly grabbed him by the arm. The boy began to protest and the guard indifferently began to thrust the boy into the stone to silence him. A soon as Elayne heard the click of the lock open she threw all her weight on the bars.

"No! Don't hurt him!" she yelled. The cell door slammed the soldier hard in the jaw, but Elayne ran for the other who held the struggling boy. Elayne saw from the corner of her eye Guinevere crawl quickly to see the commotion. Elayne leaped on the guard. As he whirled around she grabbed his dagger from his belt, hiding it in the rags of her clothes. However, her anger flared when the soldier brought the boy along with him when he turned. Elayne heard a snap come from the boy's arm and he yelled in pain.

"Lucan!" Guinevere shouted. Her voice made Elayne back away and start taking out the knife. She noticed the monk was missing and spun around when the other soldier's boots scrapped the ground. The cold metal sword was searing hot on her skin, burning her flesh as it sunk into her chest, slashing her. Elayne shrunk back as she stifled a scream in a gasp. Suddenly the room burst with more soldiers who grabbed her without care, leading her out into the cold air. Craning her neck, Elayne looked over her shoulder to see Lucan being tossed effortlessly back into his prison. She blamed herself inside for Lucan's condition, but quickly put the thought away as her own mind crept into shock.

Her chest was covered in blood and air suddenly became a burden to fill her lungs with. The sun made her jump as it burned her but the soldiers stood her back up to her feet by embedding their heels into the backs of her legs. Elayne walked with a blurry vision until the soldiers dropped her into the cold, muddy ground. Marius' feet were planted before her, but Elayne didn't look up to defend herself with her determined glare she often used. She was too weak to fight back even with looks, her mind swimming and her body trembling.

"Make sure she can't run away and then you all can leave and watch over the other villagers," Marius said quickly in his thick Roman accent. The heels of a man's boots struck Elayne again, bruising her skin. Elayne howled in pain, through thick tears saw the villagers stiffen but do nothing, only hide back in their small huts of homes. The soldiers walked off barking orders as Marius grabbed Elayne's chin, making her look up.

"You are Saxon, aren't you Elayne?" Marius asked. The girl said nothing. "If you don't answer me I will make sure you are punished. You must reveal your soul to God by admitting your sins, now do so to save yourself." Elayne heard half the words as her mind fell in and out of consciousness. She took quick breaths but felt her head throbbing. "Tell me Elayne, why did my men find you in the forest?" Marius' fingernails were digging into her skin. Incoherent thoughts and memories pooled suddenly into Elayne's mind in a blur. She gurgled through clenched lips and Marius let go.

"My family…in the village…he burned it to the ground…" Elayne's eyes grew wide as she remembered. "…Took me as a slave…used me…I was his spy…but…" Elayne's eyes lifted up to the sky. Through the clouds Elayne spotted the bird, the bird from her dreams. The hawk flew wistfully in the air. Elayne felt one thought break through all the rest as she collapsed into the darkness. The lone one flies, the others come…


	4. A Savior With Angel Eyes

Chapter 3- A Savior With Angel Eyes

…And with them the king of the ages…Elayne's head burst in shattering spasms of pain. Her mind whirled rapidly in the memories from days ago. As Elayne slowly opened her eyes, the thought of the lone one, and the king echoed through her head. _Why did I dream that? _Elayne wondered as she carefully sat up. The strain on her bruised legs made her gasp and when she bent over her chest cracked with dried blood. Elayne moaned softly when suddenly the clanging of metal against iron rang in her ears. All the sounds were quiet in her ears and Elayne knew with her fading sight she would pass out soon. A soft thump made Elayne fight to stay awake. A bundle of clothes and body lay crumbled on the dirty moist floor. Elayne heard the distant voice of the wiry haired monk and the retort that came back was an angry shout.

"Not my God!" the man's belligerent voice made Elayne weakly move her head. She could hardly move, think and breath, but the fantasy of a savior flashed through her head. Iron chains feel to the ground and she heard Lucan whimper not far away.

"You must not fear me boy," a deep, booming voice broke her sanity. Someone's saving them! _Please don't forget me!_ She felt her body break down, she couldn't keep her eyes open. Another cell was opened and Elayne recognized it as Guinevere's. A broad shouldered man picked her up. She limply pointed with her finger to Elayne's cell and then collapsed. Elayne fought the pain, her vision clearing slightly. A burly man with knotted red hair came over to her cell. He looked at her doubtfully but Elayne couldn't give a sign of life. He regretfully shook his head.

"Arthur, she's dead," the voice whispered gravely, smeared in kindness. _Arthur!_ Elayne knew the name. With the last of her strength that was slowly ebbing away, she struggled to raise her head. "No wait, she's alive!" The bars of her cell gave way to the knight's sword and strong arms wound their way around Elayne. She clung to his neck tightly, not wanting to let the moment go, as if it were a dream. She watched the distant trees and courtyard meet her full on as the knight carried her outside. A group of horses and other knights circled around Lucan, Guinevere and their saviors. Elayne blindly looked to see if Lucan was all right, but her mind was too foggy.

"Galahad, bring me water," the man holding her commanded. She felt tiny prickles of snow chill her skin. The knight brushed back her dirty hair from her face as he carefully kneeled her down to the ground. The chill of the ground sent stinging knives of pain up her spine and when Elayne opened her eyes beautiful blue ones through dark curls stared back at her. She gasped at the young knight's handsome looks and he equally seemed to express some surprise, but quickly hid it as he tipped a water bag to her lips. Ice-cold refreshing water swam down her throat. Elayne instantly felt it revive her body until her throat caught. She coughed slightly, unable to hold most of the water in her mouth. The dark haired knight dried her face, gently dabbing at her cracked lips.

"Drink more," he advised. Elayne gingerly accepted, drinking more slowly to ease her empty stomach. She felt her stomach roll inside with a sickness of being starved for so long. But the feeling passed as the water cleared her mind. She blinked again and her vision grew sharper. Once more she found herself staring awestruck at the young man. He awkwardly looked to his companion. The red haired knight shifted his hands, grazing his fingernails along her gashes. Elayne winced, a small cry dripping from her lips. The knight set her down and removed his hands from her back. They were covered in newly shed blood. Again her lifted her up, feeling the cuts along her back. His touch was feather soft and she felt the other knight cradle her head in his hands.

"She's been flogged," the red haired man stated. "Her legs are bruised too, I could feel the lumps." Elayne suddenly wanted to lash out with all her feelings but was silent.

"Gawain, look at this," the young man said as he peeked at the wound along her chest. She pulled away from his touch, her heart quickening in fear. The knight looked grimly down at her. "I won't hurt you, you're safe with us." Elayne's heart lifted. The knight accepted and understood her fear, keeping his hand at a distance, yet still resting it softly around her slim waist.

"What are you doing?" the shout made the knights and Elayne snap their heads up. Marius pushed his way through the horses, pointing at Guinevere who was cradled by Arthur. "They are sinners and must die as an example," he berated. He looked at each knight, coming lastly to Galahad, who kneeled with Elayne in his lap. Marius' finger shot threw the air at her as he began spilling the senseless accusations.

"She's an enemy, a sinner in adultery." Elayne felt the tip of her dagger poke her arm from where it sat hidden underneath her arm. "Each of these prisoners have sinned against God." Arthur rose in a bubbling fury.

"You mean they refuse to be your surfs!" he yelled in anger, his eyes blazing and wide. Elayne felt the eyes of another knight. Looking around the knight named Gawain, she found a pair of eyes that were hidden in locks and braids of dark hair. His cheekbones rose high on his face, his cheeks tattooed with a Sarmatian symbol Elayne thought she recognized. His eyes were locked in hers, staring deeply as he unlocked her very soul. Elayne quavered under Galahad's hold, but the other knight's eyes adjured her to look up at him. He had an audacity look to him as he leaned in on his saddle. His eyes flickered away, causing Elayne to avert her eyes. Marius' petite wife huddled down to Guinevere, whispering consoling words to her.

"You!" Marius forced her to her feet. "You kept them alive!" His hand lashed out as he slapped her, sending the woman to the ground. Quick as lightning, Elayne sprang to her feet, yanking out the dagger and leaping for Marius. In a whirl of chaos Arthur unsheathed his sword, pointing the tip to Marius' throat as he threw the Roman man to the ground. Elayne couldn't comprehend the feeling of her body failing, the only thoughts of murdering the Roman were running through her head. Guards chased after her as the knights kept them at bay with their poised weapons and sharp eyes.

"Galahad, stop her," Gawain ordered. But the young knight already sensed her weak spirit battle with her strong mind. He caught her as Elayne collapsed, her legs shaking in spasms of pain. Her head began throbbing, her stomach shaking violently. Out of the corner of Elayne's eyes she saw the mysterious knight nock an arrow to his bow, keeping a watchful eye on her as he aimed at a Roman soldier.

"Drop the dagger," the young knight whispered in her ear as he wrestled to calm her down. Elayne refused, struggling to get free. He tightened his grip around her wrist till she gasped. "Drop it now," he ordered forcefully. Tears springing to her eyes, she heard the dagger fall into the grass. She wound her arms around his neck, instantly falling into his embrace. Galahad lifted her up, quickly pocketing the dagger. He carried her to his horse, setting her down atop of the great animal's back. Elayne scrambled for the reins, but the young knight kept his hand secured around her waist.

"I said wall them back up!" Elayne gazed through locks of hair at Arthur, who was full to the greatest extent of horrific fury. Galahad gave Gawain a dubious glare, and his companion ignored it with other thoughts and grabbed the first monk, shoving him back towards the dank prison. Elayne wore a light smug smile. Galahad was rummaging through his saddlebags, pulling out a thick blanket and handing it to Elayne. She gratefully took it, wrapping it around her freezing body.

"They deserve their punishment," Elayne announced in a croak. Galahad gave her a quick smile. His arm slithered around her waist, trailing down her leg.

"That's why one must learn not to provoke Arthur," he responded slyly. As Gawain walked back towards his friend, watching him smile up at the tortured, bedraggled girl, he noticed a new feeling spring into Galahad's eyes. He muttered wearily to himself, afraid to lose a companion. He carefully watched all of Galahad's actions, the quick motions revealing the thoughts that had never run through Galahad's head before. As Gawain saw a passage of bliss flutter through Galahad's eyes, he was suddenly proud he had saved the girl from her unwanted, haunting prison.


	5. The Acts of Pity

Chapter 4- The Acts of Pity

A heavy drumming beat in the distance as Arthur led the caravan of survivors away from Marius' crude post. Elayne clung tightly to Galahad, who sat proudly on his horse. But Elayne realized it was not because of her, but because Arthur had gone against Rome's wishes, even swore vengeance for the torture given to Elayne and the other prisoners. Galahad felt proud he was in Arthur's company, and that he could faithfully call him leader. The girl clinging to his back at the moment meant no difference to him. Elayne looked behind her once. The thickening snow was beginning to blanket the ground, but vaguely Elayne could see the pitiful huts and fences, the perfectly cut bushes that lined the pathway and the overly immense wall of Marius' estate. Galahad eyed her secretly, sending his horse into a quick trot. Elayne turned back around, leaving behind another dark torture that was tucked deep in her mind.

She turned her attention back around to the slow moving horde of people, each giving her an affable look as she and Galahad passed them. They both quickly trotted by a wagon carrying Lucan and Guinevere. The other woman opened her big eyes and gave Elayne a weak look of hope before fading back into sleep. The big burly man that saved Lucan was now slinging the boy's broken arm, which had gained a red and puffy appearance from days without treatment. Galahad felt Elayne stiffen against him. Wiping snowflakes from his eyes, he came in step with Gawain and slowed his horse to a simple gait. The caravan all seemed on the edge of panic, always keeping a sharp eye and ear for the enemy that followed close behind. As they entered a dense forest showered in white, the droning sound of the drums faded from existence. Gawain nodded to Galahad when the other knight rode over to him. He handed the young man a chunk of bread, motioning with his eyes to Elayne.

"She hasn't eaten in weeks," he stated. Galahad carefully turned as to not disturb the half sleeping girl. Elayne lifted her head weakly. Her face was wan, but her eyes were full of strength and expansive young demeanor. Clouded like the sky above, Elayne's gray eyes opened into a clear blue. Galahad once again found he was mesmerized by how her eyes set off her beauty, but Elayne hardly noticed as she greedily snatched away the chunk of bread. She instantly began gobbling it down before a strong hand took hold. She gazed into the aqua colored eyes of Galahad, his handsome face hidden by the dark curls and beard.

"Eat slowly, your stomach isn't used to so much food, even if it cries in hunger." His advice was strict, a quaint suggestion that expressed his rueful gaze towards Elayne, as if he were the cause of her suffering. Elayne ate slower as Galahad turned back around, sighing greatly in fatigue. Gawain's face masked Galahad's weary mind. His eyes were laden with a condescending, yet distraught look to the people around him. Elayne noticed that the brawny knight rarely, if ever, held a malevolent look to him. He always seemed to accept and react rationally. Galahad though, was a very brash man who carried a raucous opinion to everything and never seemed to contemplate anyone but himself. Elayne found she was surprised by the various ministrations he seemed to shower upon her, but also knew they were given out of pity.

"How long were you held prisoner?" Gawain asked. Elayne finished nibbling her bread, trying to think of the days that passed in Marius' hostile rule. Galahad craned his head over to hear her response.

"I remember six days, but I don't know how many really passed while I slept," she said with a little hint of impudence to her voice. "I was too sick to count the days."

"No Marius just beat you so badly that you were barely aware to breath. Gawain found you half alive, clutching with that last thread of strength. You're lucky to be alive," Galahad snootily retorted. "What did he do to you and the others?" Elayne gave Galahad a skeptical look. She considered his trustworthiness, but his beseeching face made her simply rest her aching head back on his shoulder. His back stiffened, Gawain could see a frown passing over his friend's lips.

"He flogged me and pulled both my arms out of joint…" Elayne suddenly trailed off, remembering the reason for the throbbing and swilling in her arm. Galahad swiftly turned around, glancing at her as he slowly moved the ragged clothing from her shoulder. She flinched at his touch, glaring at him but allowed his fingers to graze along the uneven bloated skin of her slightly lower arm that hung from her body. He took a look at Gawain, who gave an equally perplexed look.

"Galahad, I'd wait until Dagonet can have a look at it," he said halfheartedly. Gawain gave the girl's arm a disgusted look, then turned his horse and galloped for the wagon Dagonet resided in. Galahad, still gripping his reins steadily, laid a firm hand around Elayne's arm. The horse jolted suddenly, sending daggers of pain to flood through Elayne's arm. She whined softly, her body trembling furiously and her stomach rolling. Galahad held her close, trying desperately to calm her. Elayne buried her face into his muscular chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath.

"You know it has to be put back into place don't you?" Galahad whispered hoarsely, somewhat indifferently. He stroked her hair from her face, hoping to see her eyes again, for her eyes could not show the weakness that was plastered on her face. But the girl only nodded. Then she braced herself for the pain, biting hard on her lip and covering her face in her hand. Galahad grimly set his jaw and as fast as he could he snapped her arm back into place. Her stiff body fell apart into little frail pieces as she wept in his arms, her holler of pain stifled by his chest.

Galahad faced forward with a pained and regretful expression on his face. He tried desperately to ignore the girl's small sniffles, but each time his lips quivered slightly in agony. He hated this fifteen years of servitude. He wished with all his heart for it to end, so he wouldn't have to endure it any longer. He glanced up to see Tristan, huddled in his dark cloak as the snow fell down harder. The scout's sharp eyes locked with the young knight's and Galahad received a long, roughish look from Tristan. The scout whistled loudly, the sound ringing in the air. His dark eyes were hardly visible because of his long locks, but Galahad still felt the curious look Tristan gave. A loud, brisk screech returned Tristan's call, and a brown-feathered hawk fluttered down to Tristan's outstretched arm.

Elayne peeked up from over Galahad's back, her eyes red and puffy from sobs, and her fingers twining themselves around Galahad's shoulder. Galahad heard a small gasp escape Elayne's lips. Her eyes were wide and rapt, staring at the magnificent bird of prey perched on Tristan's shoulder. Tristan easily steered his horse around with little effort, coming next to Elayne. The girl looked up with uncertainty at the knight, but Tristan's lips seemed to tug in a warm smile. The hawk gave a small screech again, looking with hard eyes to Elayne. The girl suddenly recognized it as the bird that had flown in the sky when Marius was giving her his last interrogation to her. Her small fingers reached out, gently grazing the soft feathers. The bird snapped its beak, but Tristan's gloved hand scolded the hawk as he gave his pet a quick pat across the head. Elayne gave a weak smile as the bird cocked his head back, but Tristan's eyes were playful.

"She seems to mind you girl, not many have luck in meeting a friendly acquaintance with hawks," Tristan noted. Elayne, leaning on Galahad's back and holding tightly, felt her heart flutter and a tingling ran down her whole body. Tristan yanked on the horse's reins, kicking his feet into the steed's sides. "You're the only Saxon that can say that," he whispered in her ear as he galloped off into the snowy path towards Arthur and the other knights that rode ahead.

Elayne was shocked, frowning at Tristan as he rode away. But her new feelings for this knights that had aroused made all the indignant ones vanish. She felt a sudden affection for the knight that berated her and yet similar feelings of trust for the young knight who cared for her. As the dreary sickness and weakness crept over her once more, she heard herself whisper their names over and over again in her head…Galahad…Gawain…Dagonet…. Arthur….


	6. Playing With the Mind

Chapter 5- Playing with the Mind

It was the slowing pace of the horses that made Elayne give a soft moan as she awoke from a fitful, groggy sleep. Rubbing her eyes, the thick snow had finally showed signs of ceasing. Galahad was riding astride Gawain and the dark haired knight. Elayne heard a sharp whine behind her and turned to see a hefty, burly knight tort past her. He was in his middle ages and bald, but held such an ecstatic and witty twinkle in his eye that Elayne found quite quaint about him. With a cautious face the knight pulled out his ax as they rode closer to a dense wood of fir tress. Galahad glowered at the knight's worried look with a sanctimonious glare.

"What now Bors," he broke the whispering shrills of the wind. "The woods scare you too?" he finished cheekily. Bors glared at Galahad as Gawain hid a soft chuckle. Elayne noticed the other knight remained expressionless and calm. Yet to Elayne, he held a slight hostile look to him that kept her on edge. Bors indifferently kept his weapon of choice at hand, not letting the young knight pester him.

"At least I'd be ready to protect your young lass against any enemy that decides to sneak up on us." He gave Elayne a quick wink that made the girl flush slightly. "Here you'll be just taking out that arrow while this young beauty will be flocking into my arms." Gawain began chuckling out loud, nudging Galahad jokily in the arm. Galahad viciously shook the other man off, laying angry eyes on Bors. Bors showed an obvious feigned liking to Elayne, and wanted to annoy Galahad more. He grabbed Elayne's hand, kissing her soft skin with his dry lips. He hummed to himself as Galahad frowned in distaste. "Hmmm…I'm liking her skin already. She'll be mine for the taking."

They all managed a laugh or a smirk, until Galahad heard Elayne snarl, her jaw drop and a distraught face instantly proved the joke was over. She gnawed her lips and curtly pulled her hand away. Galahad could sense her troubled face by the way Tristan shifted his eyes awkwardly and galloped off, whistling into the air. Bors was the only one who wouldn't let his fun be ruined. He laughed softly to himself, trying to catch Elayne's eye but she made a point of avoiding him. Gawain drew reticent as Bors loped off and he carefully tried to pick his words to say to Elayne. He hesitated, rubbing his neck to turn away from Elayne.

"Bors was just joking," Gawain managed to say. "He never means any of it."

"But there are sometimes when he takes it too far," Galahad said with a voice of ice. Gawain opened his mouth in protest, then shut it and galloped on. Galahad reined in the horse and leapt off, huffily leading the steed into the wood for the night. He made sure to avert his eyes from Elayne, embarrassed by Bors' comment of bedding Elayne. It made him force out feelings that they both sensed should have been kept hidden. Yet Elayne felt a bubbly feeling rise inside her heart. The knight seemed to care for her and that was a rare thing. Galahad led her into a clearing in the woods. The trees held a canopy of snow around the clearing that dipped into the uneven ground. Small snowflakes still escaped down into the air from the twisted branches. Elayne glanced behind her, but the pine and fur trees concealed the following horde.

Gawain and Bors had already begun setting camp, while the other knight disappeared into the forest in a very stealthy manner. Elayne followed him until he was gone from her sight and then clumsily fell down from the horse. Galahad's arm by habit steadied her as Elayne caught her foot in the stirrups and he waited patiently till she had both feet on the ground. Elayne cocked a quick smile, but Galahad seemed to acknowledge her indifferently by handing her the reins and strutting away.

"I'm going to get firewood," he said surly to Gawain. Bors held his eyes on Galahad and shook his face in annoyance. Feeling slightly out of place, Elayne tied Galahad's horse next to Gawain's in silence and began unpacking the knight's bags. Gawain helped her heft Galahad's shield and weapons, taking them from her as he watched her strain her weak arms.

"He pushed it back in, didn't he?" Gawain pointed to her arm. Elayne rubbed her arm fervently, already noticing a thick swelling beginning.

"I told him to, I couldn't stand the pain any longer," Elayne lied to dismiss what guilt Galahad could still feel. Gawain nodded, setting down the last of the saddlebags and then moving back to his own. Elayne wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, turning to meet Bors' eyes as he considered her with a slightly perplexed face. Elayne slinked her way over, kneeling down next to him.

"Galahad knows you were just joking," Elayne put out. Bors grunted. Elayne couldn't help but smile. "Do you always use that charm on women?" Elayne thought that the man's sour mood would be unshakable, but then Bors smiled at her.

"It depends if I like the girl or not," he said. Elayne cocked an eyebrow at him. "Besides, I have a lover and a few bastards to call my own back at the fort." Elayne stumbled for words to her next question, pondered and finally decided to just say it.

"You all are Sarmatian knights?" Bors nodded with a flippant look in his eye. Elayne ignored it as she heard the jingle of reins and the squeaking of cartwheels. Arthur trotted by, followed by another knight with dark curls. His eyes held a pure self-exultation and arrogance. His smile and gleam in his eye made Elayne blush. Her cheeks however, quickly drained of color as Marius and his escort of men shoved their way through. Arthur glared at the man and all the knights kept their eyes on him, their hands discreetly close to their weapons. Elayne refused to break the hard stare between her and Marius till he finally looked away in abhorrent revulsion. Elayne turned back to Bors, Arthur still in the corner of her eye.

"You all are Sarmatian except Arthur?" Bors nodded, grunting as he moved to slip his knives back in their sheaths.

"Arthur's Roman and the leader at our post," Bors explained as he nodded in greeting to the other knight that accompanied Arthur. "The Romans created the posts and they don't trust anyone else to lead us." The curly haired knight came and stood by Bors, handing him a cask of water. Elayne wobbled on her feet and stood up, eyeing the other knight.

"They took your land, your men and force you to fight for them for a cause you would rather kill them for," Elayne felt a great amount of sardonic criticism drip from her mouth. "And after all they've done they expect trust? Hardly the thing to grant them I think." Her voice was full of a mock berating tone. Bors gaped at her and then slapped his knee, laughing in amusement. He hefted himself to his feet, clamping a strong hand on the other knight who smiled at Elayne.

"Ah…Lancelot, I like this girl already." Lancelot gave Elayne an arch look and then chuckled softly.

"Does this entitle me to Vanora?" he asked slyly. Bors' smile was wiped clean and he glared at Lancelot, pointing a belligerent finger at him and then walking away. Lancelot tried hiding his smile but failed, making Elayne grin too. Lancelot's eyes fluttered beyond Elayne and then back to her.

"Well you managed to attract Bors, but he's the easy one." He waved his hand behind her. "Now that one, it amazes me, but yet I can see the catch." Elayne gave Lancelot a disdainful look. She refused to be used like this, bouncing from one man to the next. But when she spun around she saw Galahad, who immediately looked down, going back to the gathered firewood. "If you ever get bored with him, come to me."

Elayne couldn't believe her ears at Lancelot's sly remark. She glared profoundly at him and felt her tongue ready to strike back at him with an equal amount of the arrogant voice he sported. But then Arthur walked towards them. A big, broad shouldered knight followed him. Elayne hid her astonishment of the man's giant-like appearance, yet her eyes held onto his face with a very uncertain look. The man had a hard chiseled face with a scar running past his eye, but his eyes were soft and held all the compassion in the world.

"This is Dagonet," Arthur introduced the man, whose hardened look remained carved like stone into his face. "He will treat and clean your wounds for you." Elayne gratefully found herself stumbling to Dagonet, overjoyed that her pains could finally be cleaned. She turned to Arthur. All mistrust vanished from her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered in a voice of jubilation, all worry stripped clean. Arthur smiled sincerely at her and took to caring after others. Dagonet silently beckoned for Elayne to follow, and led her to the wagon where he resided with Lucan and Guinevere. Elayne watched Galahad slip away from Gawain's company, following her earnestly. For the first time, Elayne smiles wickedly to herself as she felt Galahad's presence close behind. The knight almost seemed attached to her. Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, it was almost as if her mind was playing tricks with her making her think feelings neither were willing to expose or grant.


	7. Cleaning the Wounds

Chapter 6- Cleaning the Wounds

Dagonet held the flap of the cart for her, which Elayne gingerly climbed into, any quick motions sending jolts of pain down her spine. Deeper inside the wagon was Lucan, who was soundly resting. Elayne saw his arm had been set back and bandaged. A pained look washed over her face and she looked helplessly at Dagonet as he climbed into the cart. Galahad loitered in the doorway, unsure if he should enter or return back to Gawain. This girl held a mystery for him, almost as puzzling as Tristan and he wished to be one of the first to unveil it. His grim face observed Elayne's own troubled one. Dagonet's brow creased in confusion at Elayne's face. She brushed back a lock of hair from her eyes as tears welled up. She pulled her knees to her face, even though that strained her broken skin even more.

"It's my fault his arm is broken," she exclaimed. Galahad showed an apologetic, yet piteous face, while Dagonet fell into a stoic faze, trying to hide his growing attachment to the small boy. He shook his head as he grabbed a basin of water.

"No it isn't," he countered in a deep, rumbling voice. He dipped a cloth into the warm water. He considered how to clean her back without stripping her down to her ankles and finally took the rag of clothing and ripped it in half down her back, peeling it off her wet skin. Elayne shivered at the cold air that bit at her back and wrapped the thick blanket around her half exposed chest. Galahad grew uncomfortable, looking down and shifted from one foot to the other. Dagonet also observed the knight's presence. A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked from Galahad to Elayne.

"Galahad," the young man's head snapped up. "Make yourself useful and go get clean clothes and the ointment from Fulcinia, Marius' wife. She's in the next wagon with Guinevere." Galahad quickly obeyed with a nod of his head. Dagonet smirked as he submersed the towel into the water and carefully began soaking the blood from Elayne's back. Elayne winced, quivering at the touch, slightly edgy with a man feeling down her back. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you." Dagonet said softly. Elayne nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to will her body to stop trembling. To relax her mind, Elayne glanced back over at Lucan, her head resting on her bent knees. The boy's blond curls fell perfectly onto his chubby face, which was lying peacefully on the pillow of clothes.

"How is Lucan?" Elayne asked. Dagonet momentarily stopped washing her back. Elayne saw the man's face soften into affection as he watched the young boy sleep.

"He burns with fever but seems to strengthen at every moment. His arm will heal well. Fulcinia took care of him best she could." Dagonet continued again on her back. Every scrub, though soft and tender, was like a thousand needles running down Elayne's back. Elayne winced, her breath running in her sharply.

"I tried to stop the men from taking Lucan to Marius. I didn't want him to be tortured," Elayne explained. The more she stayed concentrated on something else the more the pain subsided. "But the guards held me off and in the same instant yanked Lucan and broke his arm." Elayne numbly turned around, looking straight into Dagonet's eyes. "It's my fault that he suffers." Dagonet said nothing, his stare was hard as if filled with accusations, but it only hid the latent compassion. Galahad intruded the silent stare, glancing from Elayne to Dagonet. Dagonet turned her back around. Elayne felt tears sting her eyes and wished the silent, huge man would say anything to break the uneasy silence, for Galahad wouldn't.

"He would have suffered more at Marius' hand." Dagonet wrung the towel over the basin. Galahad watched as blood filled the bowl. "Do not blame yourself over it." Elayne brushed her wet eyelashes, nodding somberly. Dagonet took the glass bottle of ointment from Galahad's collected items. He cracked open the jar, a strong scent of plants and healing herbs rushed to Elayne's nose. The scent soothed her distraught mind.

"What's your name girl?" Dagonet asked, wetting his fingers in the thick jelly ointment and rubbing it on Elayne's wounds. The cream sent a searing numbness and burning sensation through Elayne's spine. To her amazement a comforting cooling feel followed it quickly. Galahad was lingering to every bit of silence, leaning in to hear the answer. Dagonet took note of the action, tucking the young man's feelings deep into his mind.

"Elayne, my name is Elayne." Dagonet stiffened at the answer. Galahad's eyes took a wistful expression, but not from her name. He suddenly dreamed of home. Of the rolling lush hills of grass, the small villages where his people lived, free. The twinkling stars were glowing in a cloudless sky and Galahad felt himself relieved of the fifteen years he had been trapped indentured to a kingdom he loathed with all his heart. As painful as the life he lived in now, it was equally excruciating to leave his memories behind. He refused to look straight at Elayne, rubbing his aching neck and wandering into dreams again. But her face, gentle and gorgeous, brought his up to meet her.

Elayne looked up at Galahad, her eyes full of sadness towards him. Galahad first took it as pity, but sought to find another feeling. The blueness in her eyes sparkled, clearing away the empty storms of gray. Her eyes opened into a silent feeling of connection. Galahad held his eyes with hers, a relief sweeping over his heart and troubled mind when she looked away. Dagonet ceased in rubbing her back, excusing himself from the moment to check on Lucan. Galahad crept closer into the wagon, sitting down next to Elayne. She didn't meet his eyes.

"Tristan told me who you are," Galahad dared to say. He watched in dismay as the girl's eyes fluttered back to their bleak, hopeless gray state. Galahad felt his own heart drop. Undoubting, Elayne tucked the name in the corners of her mind. Tristan was the dark haired scout. She felt a sense of jealousy wrap around her, wishing that moment was between her and Tristan alone. There was something about him that stirred inside Elayne. Dagonet grunted as he crawled back over to Elayne, scanning her back once more.

"Try not to rest on it, the numbness of the ointment stops the pain and heals the infection." Dagonet picked through his bags, pulling out a dried piece of meat. He handed it to Elayne, who gratefully took it and ripped a piece of it off in her teeth. Galahad chuckled softly on how barbaric her appearance suddenly looked.

"Your back was filthy and your cuts are full of infection, but I think they will heal alright. What were you laying in?" Dagonet asked as he stared at her back with a very troubled and contorted face deep in thought. He brushed a dirt spot from her shoulder. His cold fingers made Elayne jump and she whipped around to face Dagonet.

"Do you think Marius made sure to clean the cells before his next victim arrived?" Her eyes were enraged and she spat the words out. Both of the knights were quite taken back by her stubborn outburst, though Dagonet kept his stony face aligned with Elayne, while Galahad diverted his stare. "Vomit, dirt, blood, any disgust that could come from a human body." Elayne turned away, ashamed by how shaky her voice was. "There was a body…lying next to me." Her mouth hung open, her lips shaking violently. The meat caked on her tongue and suddenly tasted vile. It took all of her will to swallow it. Her clouded eyes blazed in a chaotic storm, set in a determination that was undying. "Marius should die for what he did." Galahad cocked an eyebrow at Dagonet, who looked only the slightest amused.

"That can be arranged," he said slyly. Elayne couldn't help but smirk at his comment, a foolhardy young man speaking arrogantly. Dagonet found a fresh cloth unstained by Elayne's blood and reached for the cut across her chest. Elayne instinctively pulled back, baring her teeth at Dagonet. The man looked at her sternly, and leaned over again. Elayne slapped his hand away, her eyes icy.

"I'm fine," she whined in an excuse. Dagonet gave her a sour look, tossing the cloth back into the water with a splash. He sat with his arm resting on his knee and let out a small snigger. He climbed his way out of the wagon.

"You're very stubborn Elayne," he remarked. Elayne noticed a laughter lingering in his eyes. She held her head high. "But then again, so is every woman with a Sarmatian name."


	8. Revealing a Past

Chapter 7- Revealing a Past

A slight bitterness crept over Elayne as she grabbed the cloth, scrubbing away at the dried blood. Elayne felt Galahad's amused eyes on her and that caused her to wipe the dried blood away harder.

"Stop," Galahad commanded, snatching the cloth away from Elayne. "You're just going to irritate it more." He rinsed the bloody water out and crept over to Elayne. She flinched at his touch, swiping his hand away from her, her eyes fuming and enraged. She pulled back and Galahad gave her a very annoyed expression. But Elayne saw his bright eyes play with her. She refused to be treated like a tavern wench. "I'm not going to hurt you, you should know that by now." Elayne's face still looked ominous, making Galahad's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Elayne," the crisp way he said her name made Elayne look up, compelled almost to believe him. "I've dealt with worse wounds than this, I'm not going to hurt you." An annoyed look covered his face.

"I'm not afraid of you hurting me Galahad," he didn't meet her gaze when she said his name for the first time. It was too musical and slightly wrong in his ears. Her cheeks flushed as she looked down at the gash above her breasts. Galahad unknowingly followed her gaze to where the cloth limply hung on the top of her bosom. He looked back up into her eyes.

"Then what are you afraid of?" he challenged. He wasn't headstrong enough like Lancelot to say what was on both of their minds. When he reached for her again, Elayne remained grudgingly still, an almost terrified look in her eyes that were glued to his. She was as still as a statue. His touch though, was gentle, if not tender, but forceful. Every time he scrapped against her broken flesh and caught the skin she flinched. Galahad would instantly freeze, but would continue when her eyes bade him to.

"Why were you tortured?" Galahad asked, requesting a conversation that Elayne dreaded but couldn't ignore.

"The guards who found me accused me of adultery and being a whore. Plus, I wouldn't submit to the religion Marius tried to shove down my throat." Elayne watched the rhythmic circle of his hands. Galahad wished he could take his eyes off her. It was torment. "But it was mainly because I'm Saxon." Galahad stiffened at the sound of the enemy that was slowly tracking them. What if she had something to do with it? He tossed the towel aside, picking up the ointment and slowly applying it to Elayne's smooth skin. His eyes trailed past the cloth and he bit the inside of his cheek hard and looked away. _Maidens in taverns look better than this!_ He knew the statement was false.

The water ran down her skin, taking the dirt with it. Galahad for the first time took in Elayne's features. She was very slim, but held a muscle to her arm and legs gained only through years of training with weapons. Galahad wondered how much she knew. Her long hair was turning a golden dark blond, long and wavy. The most startling part of her was her eyes. They set of the stubborn and slight arrogance to her.

"Where did they capture you?" Galahad asked, shaking his head from the sudden spur of fantasies that swam through his head. _This is insane!_

"A run down, burning village taken over by Saxons. It was a small British village I had run away to. The Saxons are hardly a group to live by." Elayne grew hesitant on her words, but they could explain so much. She also discerned that some things were better kept hidden. She barely knew Galahad and she was appalled she trusted him so already. Galahad had keen senses, looking up at her.

"If you don't wish to tell me, I understand," he offered. Elayne shook her head, taking a deep breath as Galahad's fingers circled down lower along the cut. A man had never touched her since that fated night. She shied away slightly, but Galahad's arm had slithered around her back and forced her there. Elayne instantly panicked. Galahad glanced up at her, reassuring her it was all right.

"The Saxons are a hostile, brutish clan. There are many men who hate and loathe the Saxon leader, Cerdic," Galahad tucked the name into the back of his mind to inform Arthur. "My father was one of those men. He had rounded up many other rebel families and we moved to the southern territory of the Saxons. We built our own village, kept to our own ways and pretended an allegiance with Cerdic. It seemed to work, the man is so dense, caught up in the spoils of war." Elayne's eyes took a far away look as the memories flashed through her head. Galahad listened intently to her story. It was all too simple. There was something she was hiding still. This girl's past was too dense to have a uncomplicated legend of a tale. "My father was a fierce fighter, but always believed in peace. He wanted to keep my family safe." A dark shadow crept over Elayne's face as tears pooled her eyes.

"Cerdic found out about our betrayal and he came with his army, destroying and killing almost ever soul in our village. I pray my father survived, or if he didn't than he is with my mother in the heavens. But some wishes are too far from our reaches to even be considered by the Gods." A blinding hatred filled her eyes as Elayne looked away, staring into the bloody water at her side. She gritted her teeth together in a snarl.

"I was kept alive for only one reason. The soldier who claimed me…." Elayne blinked hard, her eyes spilling with tears. Galahad tried to will her to look his way, but her quavering voice was almost a whisper to him. "He raped me, every night, after every battle. He raped me." Elayne said the statement so bluntly that Galahad looked with a horrid disgust at her, his frown wiping away the sympathy. She didn't care. "I miscarried twice, because he wouldn't care if I was with child, he would still throw me on his bed and rape me as hard as he could. I escaped from him, slitting his wrist and threatening him that I would kill him. He was so confused, lying half naked on the bed that when the dagger pointed past his waist he easily gave me a cloak and I fled. I tried searching for my father but eventually just gave up and came to Britain. I moved from village to village, but the Saxons seemed to follow like wind as their greed for the land finally drove them south. They ransacked the village I happened to be just leaving. The Roman soldiers were exploring the land when they caught me."

Galahad clenched his jaw and finally tore his hands away from her shamefully. He couldn't believe he even dreamed of the things he did moments ago. She would think he was just as nasty as the man who took advantage of her. Elayne looked up at him with an expressionless face, as if it meant no difference to her. "They captured me right after the Saxons left. The soldier was able to pay me one last visit however. The Roman mercenaries watched from the trees and then took me Marius." Elayne waited for Galahad to finish with her neck, but he dared not touch her again. Elayne hoped the secrets would be safe, but she knew for the good of her safety to the knights and their regards to her that Galahad would share the story, or at least what he would have the courage to utter. Galahad threw the washcloth away harshly, resting his arm on his knee. Elayne peeked up at him from where her head laid buried in her arms. The lashes running down her back protruded disgustingly, red and raw. Yet Elayne's spirit seemed hardly crushed, but if anything, purified by what she had been through and would grow stronger yet. Galahad felt confidence make him puff up his chest.

"Imagine what a lovely, quiet place the world would be if everyone had their throats slit," he whispered cleverly. Elayne's eyebrows shot up and she looked up in incredibility. Her eyes wandered, thinking of some way to reply, but having nothing to contradict with. A gleam set heavily in her eyes and her arms hid her smile. She let the silence take over and Galahad and Elayne found themselves staring only at each other, while their bond grew.

It was that silence as Galahad looked at Elayne, as he gazed and tried to unlock and discover more about her, that he learned sometimes what once was an enemy could be the greatest sustenance to a weak and frail mind. He lurked within himself, questioning why this strange, weak girl could bring so much out of him. She was enemy, but it didn't matter to him. She was nourishment for him. He began to wonder about the rumors of her and her Sarmatian name.

He had yearned for girls, for village wenches and tavern maids, for the whores who didn't care who touched her. And now here stood a woman that was thrust onto a bed, a wall, anywhere against her will and raped by a man that she didn't know. This was extending any lust he had managed to arouse in his blood soaked mind. He wanted to protect her, make sure the injustice would never happen again. For more than half his lifetime he searched for a calm, peaceful serenity that would water down his hot headed, cold-blooded mind. He sought for anything that could tear him away from his sword, lance and ax. For something that could wash away the vile retribution and crimson regret. It seemed to reside in Elayne.

The girl meekly pulled her cramping legs from her face, carefully not bumping into Galahad. The bruises on the backs of her legs caught Galahad's eyes. At first his fingers itched to graze against her legs but he resentfully did not. He now understood the reason for her fidget reaction to a man's touch. He was surprised she had tolerated this much. Deep in the recesses of his mind, he hoped she could over come that ordeal. He could be bloodthirsty but hell he knew affection too.

"Your legs seem to be healing, the swelling's gone down." Elayne took a moment to examine her claves. The lumps indeed had receded, yet her skin still was blotted with a grayish-green color.

"So, what is Sarmatia like Galahad?" Elayne rested her head on her hand, her eyes imploring for nothing too vague. Galahad contemplated sharing his memories only the knights shared. But Elayne held a little girl's fairy tale swirling in her head about a magical land where warrior gods are born.

"It is free," Galahad held a wistful dreamy tone to his voice. "It is open, wild and free. All grass, no walls, no kingdoms. The people are all one in the villages. You could ride anywhere without any fears." Elayne's eyes shifted, as she looked the man up and down, her head cocked to the side.

"But you did fear something." Galahad tired to hide it, but he couldn't deny the obvious fear he had held as a boy and even now. Elayne felt sorry for the statement, seeing the knight's face suddenly broken. "Galahad…I…"

"No, don't be." His voice was a whisper. "They took me from my father, my mother, my little brother and sister." He hid his sadness by replacing it with anger, knuckling his eyes. Elayne felt horrible but Galahad was overtaken by his repugnance for Rome. "When we get back to the wall, we're free and if I return home to find my brother gone," he shook his head of the unthinkable. "I will kill every legionnaire in Rome to get him back. This never should have happened to me." He knuckled his face, rubbing his eyes furiously. He hated Elayne for doing this to him. Elayne found the shaking knight excruciating. An unsure hand lifted his face to hers. He stared at her, her cuts, her broken spirit, and her past that haunted in her eyes.

"That should never have happened to you," he shuddered. His latent feelings once masked were revealed for a split second. Elayne found uncertainty, worry and fear. They shocked her. She dropped her head as fatigue washed over her. Galahad suddenly sprang back into the world, his mind whirling. He glared at Elayne with profound disgust. Never had anyone, not even Arthur, done that to him. He never revealed his life only to have it flood back so vividly into his mind. With a snarl he pulled out the dagger, leaving it at Elayne's feet. He hated Rome with all his heart. He knew that taking his anger out on the girl was wrong, but that was how he was. He picked up the blanket and handed it to her. She tugged at the fabric, her eyelids drooping. She was too stubborn to look at him.

"Get some rest, we'll be leaving early tomorrow." He sprang out of the wagon, leaving a little crack of light as night approached quickly. Elayne bundled herself in the blanket, laying down on the hard wood and relaxed her aching muscles. A sharp wind whistled through the fabric that draped over the wagon frame. The wind that snapped the flap caused her eyes to open wide. In the dim light, molding into the shadows stood the knight Tristan. Elayne gasped, her fingers to her lips as his eyes focused on her. His bird rested on his shoulder, his body leaned against a fir tree, the needle-like branches a canopy over him. His face was remarkable, if not frightening and Elayne drifted away into a fitful sleep, but the dreams contained only the tattooed face of Tristan.


	9. The Work of Her People

Chapter 8- The Work of Her People

"I've got the boy!" Elayne's eyes grew wide as Marius' voice shattered through her head. Elayne sprang up quickly from her spot. She looked around the wagon, but Lucan was gone. Seizing the dagger at her side, she jumped out of the wagon. Holding the dagger poised in front of her, she watched Dagonet, the gentle knight now resembling a violent bear, stare helplessly as Marius held a knife to a struggling Lucan. The boy whined softly. Dagonet's nostrils flared viciously.

"Kill him!" Marius ordered, his bloodthirsty eyes on Dagonet. His wife ran, protesting in a shrill voice but he pushed her aside. Elayne took one step, only to have soldier nock an arrow and aim at her. She froze, staying rigid to the cold snowcapped ground. "Kill the knight, kill-" An arrow zipped through the air, cutting off Marius' words. It lodged itself deeply in his chest. All was still. Marius took a quick breath, his face full of shock as he collapsed to the ground. Lucan ran to Dagonet's open arms. Elayne spun around. Guinevere held a long black bow, her eyes narrowed and she pulled back on another arrow. Arthur and Lancelot stood on either side of her. Arthur held a peremptory look on his face while Lancelot smugly held his swords across his shoulders.

Elayne heard Bors shout in the distance with thundering hooves of Gawain and Galahad close behind. The Roman soldiers advanced slightly but Guinevere shot the other arrow, landing right by their feet. Elayne walked briskly towards Marius, wishing to see the man die slowly. The Roman soldier crept behind her, Elayne unawares. Galahad galloped in, steering his horse with his legs as he shot a precise arrow. The Roman hollered in agony, making Elayne whirl around in surprise. He died before he hit the ground. All heads turned to Galahad, who climbed off his horse and put his bow back in the case buckled around his back. The knights gave Galahad an amused, yet slight sanctimonious look.

"Don't kill for pleasure eh?" Gawain asked jokingly. Bors nodded to Elayne.

"There's his pleasure," he laughed heartily. Galahad gave them all a hostile look, Arthur glaring at Bors with a scold of a grin. Elayne looked thankfully at Galahad, who half-heartedly shambled over to her. Tristan suddenly burst into the clearing, throwing a crossbow down to the ground. Arthur looked down at it, and then back at Tristan, confused. Elayne already knew the maker.

"Saxon, we have no time," Tristan said in a huff of breath. The bystanders of Marius' death frantically began packing everything up again. Elayne scrambled back into the tent, ripping off her clothes and changing into the new gown offered by Fulcinia. Galahad crossed back over to his horse and climbed on with a sigh. Gawain eyed him with a sly smile, but Galahad's glare quickly told the knight to back off. Tristan trotted over to them. His usual calmness was now impatient to be off.

"This would be a lot easier if we didn't have all these people to deal with." Galahad nodded in agreement. "There are too many sickly to move fast."

"Elayne seems to be fairing well, Guinevere too," Gawain remarked. Tristan looked at Galahad, sneaking a bit of meat into his mouth now that he had the break.

"So the Saxon does have a name?" he asked in a threatening, almost challenging voice. Galahad felt it mimic the tone Elayne gave him yesterday in the tent. He glared at Tristan harshly, but Tristan's cool nature caused no falter.

"Tristan, you don't trust anyone who's not Sarmatian," Galahad retorted angrily.

"Hmm, that's not true, he trusts Arthur," Gawain put in. Galahad rolled his eyes. Tristan licked his lips of the last taste of the meat as Elayne emerged from the wagon. She wore a light red Roman gown with a new pair of leather boots. Her hair was quickly brushed and cleaned, her body washed of the dirt and grim. Her tan, fair skin clashed with the gash across her chest, but it made her look all the more fearsome. The dagger Tristan spotted tucked into her boot, the hilt hitting her calf. His eyebrows rose, he admitted to himself that he was slightly impressed by Elayne's appearance. Galahad, however, and Gawain with him, were jaw dropped taken by her. An infatuation grew in Galahad's eyes. Tristan shrugged his shoulders.

"Think of it this way, you get your discharge papers and a beautiful Saxon girl with hidden daggers. No worries." His surreptitious eyes made Gawain laugh and Galahad finally smile. The scout galloped past Elayne as he rode off to explore ahead, passing her a quick, unheeded glance. Elayne wrapped her blanket around her bare shoulders, the loose dress from Fulcinia bigger than she expected. She strutted to Galahad with a disappointed look on her face. Gawain looked over to Marius' body being dragged unceremoniously into a spare cart.

"That was a nice shot," he said, looking at Guinevere climb into the wagon with Lucan out of the corner of his eye. Elayne nodded in agreement, avoiding Galahad's eye until she finally looked up at him.

"Am I allowed to ride with you again?" she asked sternly. Galahad winced inside, knowing her bitter behavior was from their discussion last night. Gawain smiled coolly at Elayne. Galahad held out his hand and hefted her behind him.

"Don't tell me you wanted to kill him." Elayne gave Gawain a tiny smirk.

"Galahad, Gawain, lead the way," Arthur strode his horse beside them. "Follow Tristan, Lancelot won't be far behind. I must speak with Alecto and Fulcinia." Galahad and Gawain accepted with a quick nod. Hazel eyes landed on Elayne. She timidly looked up. Arthur acknowledged her with a quick smile. She wondered if Galahad had shared anything about her past with Arthur. "How are you Elayne?" Elayne gave a small reply.

"Better my lord." Arthur guided his horse around and rode away as Gawain and Galahad spurred their horses into motion. Elayne returned back to the question Gawain posed.

"I would have taken a keen pleasure in seeing him die by my hand," Elayne replied in a naughty tone. Gawain laughed through the wind, passing her a charming smile. His giddy chuckle made Elayne grin. "But it would never suit me to do it alone." Galahad craned a lifted eyebrow to Gawain through the wind. They galloped fast after Tristan. They rode hard, an itty-bitty smudge of Tristan riding at a fast canter just ahead of them. Elayne peered around Galahad's back, her hands encircled around his waist tightening with each jump.

"You all right?" Galahad asked in honest. Elayne nodded, watching the snowy haze blur past them. They soon slowed their horses once the sound of their own thundering hooves slamming against the frozen ground was all that was heard. Elayne was glad for the still trot, the cold wind biting at her face. She buried closer against Galahad's back. She wondered how he could stand the frigid weather when she looked at his bare legs uncovered by the skirted armor. But both knights were deemed unaffected by the rude, icy snow and wind that showered down in light flurries.

They rode along the trial at a quick pace, the bouncing making Elayne's head throb. The forest continued to loom along beside them. At every slight sound both Gawain and Galahad froze, their sharp eyes searching the snow covered trees. Each time Elayne held her breath, scanning the forest, waiting for the Saxon army to pop out. She gave up her worry when she remembered the Saxon was following behind her…hopefully. A sharp whine pierced the air and Tristan cantered back towards them. He looked above him, signaling for his hawk with a sharp whistle that echoed across the snowy ridges on the other side of the broad road. He reeled his horse in, spinning him around and riding next to Galahad.

"So, Marius dead yet?" Tristan asked indifferently. Galahad nodded with the same uncaring manner, his eyes looking over the stretching trail. "You're safe for miles, but I'm going to sneak behind us to spy for Saxon scum, with your permission my lady," he said with a cynical tone. Elayne frowned, then hotly shrugged in the same uninterested manner as before. Tristan's eyes ran down her leg to the beginning of her leather boot, where he knew the hidden dagger lay.

"You're a very brave girl," he remarked, his eyes crossing over to the sky. "You're face is always fierce-less when you hold that dagger." Elayne felt touched, giving a weak smile to the man's compliments. His eyes twinkled before meeting Galahad's. "Others would call it foolishness," he accused. Elayne tried to see Galahad's face but he stayed staring forward.

"When her life is at stake when it shouldn't be then yes, that is foolishness," he countered. Tristan licked his dry lips. He easily turned his horse around with an invented skill created through beast and master, kicking the animal's sides.

"Isn't that what we've been doing since we came here?" he called cunningly as he rode off. Though their eyes were grim, Elayne saw Galahad and Gawain smile in order to lift their hearts from the murky shadows of the past. Elayne rested her head on the warm cloak of Galahad's back, her arms tightening around his waist. She teetered back and forth following the horse's movements. She curved around Galahad's side, eyeing him. He looked down at her and then sighed.

"That's not what I meant," he protested, seeing the ill will look on her face. "I just meant if things can be prevented then they should, especially in war and killing." Elayne broke her hold on him. Galahad felt slightly hurt by this. Gawain motioned his horse ahead, leaving the two alone to squabble over their differences. Elayne refused to meet his eye, averting her face every time he looked over his shoulder. Finally Galahad laughed out loud, causing Elayne to scowl disdainfully at him. "Are you going to be like this the whole ride today, because then I should have left you in the wagon." Elayne held her head high, her jaw clenched tightly. Galahad shook his head in amusement. "Fine then, your choice," he said, trying to pretend a sour expression. Elayne let it end like that.

"If it makes you feel any better about me Elayne," Galahad turned in his saddle, his eyes looking straight at Elayne, forcing her to look up at him. "I haven't told anyone about what you told me yesterday, not a soul." Elayne's brow creased in confusion. She bent her head, burying her face into his back. The cold air brushed away the tears gathering in her eyes.

"Why not?" she asked. Galahad waved his shoulders. He looked back around at her.

"Why did you tell me in the first place?" he asked. Elayne bit her bottom lip, the real thoughts running through her head. The same seemed to flow through Galahad as he considered her with confused eyes. She looked away, leaning up against him again.

"You saved my life, I just trust you I guess," Elayne responded. Galahad wasn't prepared for that answer, but took it and caught up with Gawain. The friendly knight gave Elayne a wide grin, winking at her. Elayne found the answer she gave Galahad pleasing, putting full confidence into both of her new companions. The small group rode onward along the trail, sharing quiet conversations to pass the time. Galahad and Gawain both noticed Elayne took the lead in every conversation, mostly revolving around their service to Rome. Neither seemed to mind, willing to share their antipathy to Rome. They sensed that a burden was lifted from their shoulders when they carefully admitted some of the past fifteen years to Elayne.

Gawain was laughing at another rebellious remark Elayne said about the Pope when a thick black smoke crept over to them from a swampy clearing in the woods. The sun glinted against the burnt swords and shields, all disgracefully broken and rusted. The charred remains of the homes and fences didn't fully conceal the carnage brutally placed onto the dead. Elayne sunk into Galahad's embrace with a horrified expression on her face. The homes and corpses had begun sinking into the moist earth. The grass was dyed an unnatural crimson. Each face was rotting, covered in blood and dirt, twisted in pain. An arrow protruded from a little girl's back. The girl had tried in desperate hope to hide behind her father. Elayne gasped and averted her eyes when there was a woman who still held a baby to her, but the arm was feet away from the body that died a slow, agonizing death.

"Who was it?" Galahad asked angrily through clenched teeth. Gawain gave Elayne a sympathetic look. Her heart grew. _Can the man never show anger?_ Now his face was a mixture of grimness and repugnance.

"Saxons, only a few days ago," Gawain announced into the dead silence. "This must have been only days before they began tracking us." Gawain nudged his horse back to the caravan that slowly was catching up. "I'm going to warn Arthur." Galahad barely heard it. He still stared into the massacre of innocent people, his eyes stricken. He couldn't blame Elayne, no matter how hard he tried. Elayne felt her stomach roll, but managed to keep down what little food she ate.

"Those who did this deserve nothing more than what they place on others," Elayne said with a poignant, blinding rage. Galahad nodded, finding the comment awkward from a Saxon's lips. Yet he knew it was reasonable after the moments she experienced with her people. He began steering the reins to follow Gawain, but thought against it. He didn't want to see this again. Quickening their gait to a brisk gallop, Galahad and Elayne rode away into the cloudy forest of the snowy mountains. The only echo that followed the somber scene was the shrill call of Tristan's hawk, hovering interminably through the darkening clouds.


	10. Singing of Glory

Chapter 9- Singing of Glory

They stopped and rested another night deep in the shadows of the forest. Elayne, in Galahad's view, seemed very silent and her taciturnity developed around their trust. It troubled him slightly. It was such a difference from her stubborn views before in the afternoon. Galahad figured out that Elayne had probably never before shared the events of her life since her village's destruction till she told him. She was very vague, a little cautious, but had finally warmed up to the knight who shared in her rescue and healing. Like the way Lucan clung to Dagonet, Guinevere to Lancelot and Arthur, so Elayne held onto Galahad and Gawain. Galahad couldn't help but feel a little self-righteous. Elayne however, during the silence that followed at the end of their long ride, seemed to speculate and contemplate the effect Galahad had on her.

They both did the same to each other and yet wanted to deny it. She had never found herself so open to anyone but her own father. As the bond between them grew, Elayne couldn't help but wonder what new feeling was arousing. Galahad didn't seem to graciously express the feeling either. He probably never had felt it before. But when Elayne felt his strong arms help her down from the petulant beast, the feeling she felt and saw wasn't faked. Elayne gathered the blanket around her cold shoulders, giving a slight shiver. Galahad held his arms around her for a brief moment, looking down at her bowed head with a tender face. He mumbled something and then walked over to Gawain. A soft bundle nudged her shoulder. Elayne turned around to see Tristan hand her a dark green cloak. The wool was thick and warm, feathery soft under her fingers.

"I had an extra just in case." Tristan's voice had a slight insinuation of benevolence to meet the merit in Elayne's eyes. She smiled warmly as she gazed down yearningly at the cloak. She threw the blanket aside on Galahad's horse and unclipped the cloak, throwing it around her body. She pulled the hood over her head, fingering the metal clasp. It was another Sarmatian symbol, Elayne guessed. Its knotted design was beautifully crafted. "The symbol means courage," Tristan added as a side note. Elayne felt special to be adorned with such a gift. She spun around, the hood slipping from her face, the wind catching her hair. But Tristan was already galloping away, back into the looming darkness. The glows of the fires caught the edge of his sheathed saber-like sword. Elayne was astounded at the fierce beauty of the weapon. As she gazed at the legendary knights of Arthur, she wondered how deadly and how glorious they were in battle.

Each moment here had mended a broken piece of her since her separation from her father. Elayne thought of her life before the Saxons came, before her mother died, who she remembered vaguely. Her mother had the face of an angel and a lyrical voice. Her gentle soul always seemed so sad and torn, broken. Elayne could only imagine a mournful look on her gorgeous face. Her shining beauty hindered by her saddened gaze. Her father refused to speak of Elayne's mother after she died. Elayne could only whip up the memories she held in her mind. Whenever her father looked down on his daughter, he was always reminded of his lost love through her eyes. Her father would hold Elayne close and instantly say he saw her mother through the same eyes, as if she died and her soul had sought Elayne's body, a reincarnation. That was the only resemblance the mother and daughter shared. Elayne had her mother's eyes and figure. But her light hair and skin was her father's. Her mother was a tall, and flawlessly slim woman and had a tan complexion and dark black hair. Elayne looked up to the stars that twinkled brightly. Songs filled the air, the soft tunes her mother had sang to her while Elayne drifted to sleep. As Elayne heard those songs now, she closed her eyes, the wind humming past her.

Elayne gazed down at the small campfires that grew, to the one with Dagonet and Lucan snuggled into his arms, to the one where Arthur and Lancelot conversed secretly. Elayne felt a deeper union sweep in her that related her to the heritage of the knights. Elayne just had yet to discover what it was. She was now searching for a past her father kept secret all those long years, and the identity that came with it.

An uproarious laughter exploded from the fire where sat Bors, Gawain, Galahad and an arrived Lancelot. The loud booming sound of Bors chorused with Gawain's hearty laugh. The hoots of amusement sliced through Elayne's thoughts in a jolt. The knights playfully rocked back and forth enjoying themselves, water bags full of a thin wine. Elayne couldn't help but smile. The knights were like revelers waiting for a long awaited festival. Elayne knew it was their laid back mood that blocked the grimness of the assignment from Rome. And it was the only way, to be joyous and uplifting, to cope with the hardships of fifteen years.

"Elayne!" Galahad called, motioning for her to join. Gawain turned around, a wide grin as he patted the blanket next to him. Galahad gave a boyish grin, all the complaints the two shared before thrown aside as to not spoil the moment. Besides, their arguments were pointless, just an endless stubborn squabble between the two. The grin made Elayne blush, thankful for the safety of the dark night to hide her red cheeks. Pretending a resentful mood, as if she hated the idea of sitting with savage men, she shambled slowly over. Galahad held out his hand, aiding her in the usual way to the ground to ease the bruises on her calves. The look shared however, revealed that the clever ministration was hardly needed anymore for healing wounds.

Bors took a quick swig from the leather flagon, passing it on to Lancelot. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, his eyes looking up and down at Elayne. "Dags cleaned you up well."

"Ah, Bors, what are you talking about, she didn't need the cleaning," Lancelot winked at Elayne. "Besides, I like them dirty anyway." The knights burst out laughing, Elayne flushing and turning away. Galahad spied the look, covering his smile as he tried to restrain his laugh. However, he found himself scanning her body up and down, the folds of the dress traveling perfectly over her budding body. Galahad was trapped starring at her and Gawain saw the entire action.

"Seems Galahad has already found the best of the girl," he said, pestering Galahad. The young knight's head snapped up. Elayne looked sharply at him. Galahad waited for her to swat him across the arm, but the scold came from Tristan as he sauntered by.

"We spend the whole day running from Saxon, and your loud-mouthed voices are only going to bring a spear to your gut," Tristan scoffed in his calm voice, then shrugged unconcernedly. "It'll be different waking up to that bloody scene I guess. I'll miss you," he added sarcastically.

"Aw come on," Bors complained. "We're just having fun, especially with Elayne's company and all." Tristan's eyes met Elayne's through the dark thick locks that always fell into his face. A shiver ran down her spine.

"How's the cloak?" he said in a witty tone. A pang of jealously crossed over Galahad's face. He watched Elayne wrap the cloak closer around her body.

"I suppose it will suit me," Elayne said stylishly, countering Tristan's question in mischief. Bors grunted a laugh, Gawain grinning as he took another sip of wine. Tristan excluded himself from the group, building his own makeshift bed next to his dozing horse. Unconsciously, Elayne wormed her way closer to Galahad and was leaning on his chest. She peeked over the fire at Tristan. The knight out-dressed himself of most his leather armor, and was whistling quietly as he sharpened his sword. Elayne watched his smooth motions, the flames' shadow dancing across his face and glinting off the sword. His eyes shot up so quickly Elayne didn't have a second to even think of looking away. She gave a silent gasp. The resemblance and quick thinking suddenly reminded her of her father.

There was a brother, a few years older than her and her father's pained look as he was stolen from him to fight in the war among savages. It was faint, Elayne couldn't even create a revisualization of the home she lived in or the brother she lost. The only home she knew was the one her and her father built with the other rebels. All the images suddenly swarmed into her head.

"Don't pay too much attention to Tristan Elayne, we all thought your mind was already made," Bors' voice made Elayne spring from Galahad's arms. The knights all shared looks, Galahad looking quite uncertain about what to do.

"What song were you humming?" Gawain asked, trying to change the subject. Elayne gave him a confused look. Gawain looked at his companions, making sure he wasn't hearing things. They all shared a peeked interest. Elayne thought about it, and then realized the song that ran through her head with the memories that quickly left it.

"Oh, just a tune my father used to sing to me when I was little. My mother taught it to him before…she died." Elayne felt unsure about sharing her past. This made Galahad all the more proud to know it.

"Well, sing it for us," Bors said. Elayne protested. Bors greedily snatched back the wine from Lancelot. "Sing!" Elayne gave a weak smile, her eyes staring into the orange glow of the fire.

_Today my love, today is special, _

_The days of freedom are soon at hand._

_Long battles fought and blood is shed,_

_We pay the price for other's lust._

_The dread of night disappears,_

_With dawn's first light,_

_Their armor shines so bright._

_Our sons, our sons, victors wield, _

_Strength and honor,_

_Love and glory. _

_Fear not my love, they shan't be long._

_The years will pass in fortune glory,_

_The blood it seeps beneath the ground. _

_The hellish night will not abound. _

_The dread of night disappears,_

_With dawn's first light,_

_Their armor shines so bright._

_Our sons, our sons, victors wield, _

_Strength and honor,_

_Love and glory…_

The song faded softly from Elayne's lips, a gentle breeze catching the last notes towards Tristan. The others remained silent, even Tristan himself was frozen in the spot. They all had faces of grave, somber and grim moods. Elayne saw them give pained and forced smiles. Galahad and Gawain feigned warm glances. Lancelot closed his eyes, shaking his head distraughtly. Bors hide his glower in his hand. But they all faced the now coming dawn with renewed strength and might.


	11. The Legend

Chapter 10- The Legend

Elayne felt the hot heat of the fire stroke her face, nipping at her cheeks with a sense of eagerness. A soft humming resounded from behind the gathered group, the last of the notes to the song disappearing within the chilly air. Dagonet appeared from within the shadows, sitting down next to Bors. Tristan hesitantly rose up from his spot, leaving in the distance, his shadow hovering close to the group. Elayne gazed into the dancing flames with the wide eyes of intensity, her thoughts running as free as the wind. She suddenly pictured her mother, her delicate form dancing within the fire, her arms swinging about. Her hair flayed around her slim body, the folds of her gown circling around her legs. A small smile crept to Elayne's lips as she saw the fire lick off her mother's form. Magic had taken over the fire, beating heavily on Elayne's transfixed face. God how she missed her mother…

Galahad leaned over, his hand reaching out for Elayne. Again, Elayne felt herself worm her way into his embrace. Galahad took no notice of how his arm snaked around her waist. To him, it seemed just natural. Gawain watched with hungry filled eyes, as if it was a game between him and Galahad. The last words of the song lingered on his lips, while Bors held his eyes shut. His rigid face was filled with a zeal for home. Even Lancelot had lost himself in his love, all signs of arrogance gone, but a grimness still settled in his eyes.

"Hmmm…never thought I'd yearn for the damned place now," Bors opened his eyes. "It's almost like a dream." Gawain mumbled an agreement. Lancelot took a sip of wine, rising and sauntered away in a very vexed demeanor.

"It's as almost as if we imagined it all," Galahad put out. They all nodded in unison. A snap from the fire sent up a shower of sparks into the air. The loud pop awoke Elayne back into reality. She sprang up from Galahad's arms, his face masked with a feigned casualness. But his charming smile made her accede to her growing feelings and she sank back into him. Tristan watched from the shadows, his lips twitching in a frown as he diverted his eyes.

"You say you learned that song from your mother?" Dagonet asked. Elayne looked up into his serious face. She nodded in reply. Instantly his eyes went to Bors, who considered Elayne. With a secret conversation between the two knights, Bors shook his head. Gawain looked at Elayne with a curious suspicion, rubbing his chin in thought. He knew what was on the two knights' minds.

"It's not possible, she's Saxon," he justified. Bors snorted.

"So she claims," he assumed as he tossed another log into the fire. The sparks flew wildly in all directions, obscuring the faces around the fire. The confusion, the suspicion and the severity of the words made the sense of a deeper secret unbearable. Elayne caught sign of Tristan disappearing back to his horse.

"Well, there could be an explanation for that too," Dagonet suggested. Elayne and Galahad shared baffled looks. Bors leaned back, rubbing his scalp.

"She did claim to live in Rome once. Than the fool of a Sarmatian came to her, bedded her and got her pregnant." Gawain considered Elayne out of the corner of his eye. She squirmed, uncomfortable with how this whole conversation was going.

"And after she died he probably took the girl out of Rome territory, to keep her safe," Gawain added to the start of Bors' story. His eyes flickered to the movement of Tristan. "He was probably worried to lose another child." Galahad's eyes shot up as he realized whom they were talking about but he kept silent. Elayne however, was becoming more unnerved by the moment.

"What are you talking about?" she asked hotly, throwing her arms in the air to silence the knights. Galahad shared a wavering glance at Tristan. The other man kept a hand close to a weapon, his intent eyes locked on Elayne, weary of her temper. "Are you talking about me?" Bors took the silence and opened his mouth to explain but Gawain cut him with a nonchalant wave of his hand. Elayne cocked an eyebrow, hands on her hips.

"It's just a story Elayne, it's nothing about you." Gawain gave a weak grin, a lying expression covering his face. Elayne easily peered through the deceit and found the lie. She gave Gawain a hard gaze and he flushed softly. Both Dagonet and Bors shared looks, scheming over the probability of the story and the refugee standing defiantly in front of them coming together. When Elayne spun back around to Galahad, the young man by compulsion sent his eyes back to his fire, the last lingering threat of a growing compassion leaving his eyes. Elayne angrily slumped back into the log, crossing her arms. "What's the story?" she asked, as if she had no other choice. Gawain stuttered a protest, but Bors interrupted him after taking another swig of wine.

"It was at least thirty years ago now, wouldn't you say Dags?" The knight nodded, breaking little twigs in his huge giant hands to keep himself from Elayne's imploring eyes. "The old age traditional love story. The two meet, instantly fall in love, but can't be together." Bors voice faded, taking a dreamy tone. His eyes went to the sky, blinking into the moon. "Though some say it was much more than an infatuation. _It was love…"_

_"He was a Sarmatian knight, she was daughter to a senator of Rome. He had just been released from his entitled fifteen years of service to Rome. The emperor invited the company of knights for a victory celebration. He practically got himself drunk of her beauty at dinner. He would stare at her with a mesmerized gaze, sipping his wine and looking over his goblet at her. She blushed all the while, under the watchful eye of her father." _

Bors chuckled to himself softly, cutting off the story that had Elayne transfixed and waiting with a caught breath. Her face was soft, filled with amazement at such a sprung love. In this world, it could only be considered a fantasy. Bors tossed the jug of wine to Galahad. The young man caught it and took a quick sip, declining the rest as he passed it to Gawain. Elayne looked with slight disbelief from one knight to the next, but when her eyes landed on Galahad, her eyes wished for something more, for that love. Galahad looked away, unable to give it. Tristan hovered in the distance, his eyes stuck in a petulant stare, yet on Elayne.

_"The survivors and him had just defeated the Saxons and had sent them back north. Their Roman commander felt a festival was in order for their victory and the emperor agreed. It is said he saw her and instantly placed his sword on the table, leaving his old life of combat behind. Her eyes were the palest blue, with a certain cloud hovering over them. She seemed sad, confined, and opened into a new world the second she looked at him from across the room. Legend goes you could have picked them out of the crowd easily, both staring desperately at each other, swooning over the other."_

Dagonet had started the story again, but his tone was somber compared to Bors' jolly one. It made Elayne sad, as if she knew the ending was already unbearable. Dagonet passed Elayne a sincere glance, showing that all would be all right. Gawain poked a stick into the fire, rubbing his eyes in fatigue.

"What were their names again?" Gawain ventured. Bors' face contorted in thought. The moment went by in silence. Galahad tried to bring a slightly distraught Elayne closer to him. Though she yearned for his arms to wrap around her, she forbade it, caught into the web of the legend love story. Without grudge she pushed him aside, Galahad thought it just as well.

"I remember the girl's name, it was Roman. It is so hard to forget too- Laelia. It meant "high- spirited".

_"The two from that night at dinner spent every waking moment in each other's company, whether others saw or not, they didn't care. All they wanted was to be together. In the other's arms, tasting the other's lips, embracing till a breath could not escape their lungs. They would sneak around together at night. Wake up in each other's arms with the sun beaming on their face. The knights, his companions for life, at first didn't accept it, their friend in love with their mortal enemy. But as time grew, the months passed, Laelia became a much a part of them as the knight she had falling in love with. And then, they discovered she was with child, and her father wanted the Sarmatian knights banished from Rome. So they snuck out of the city back home, and took Laelia with her. She had no regrets, she was with her lover." _

Elayne was leaning close to the fire, her head spinning wildly. Galahad glanced a somnolent eye on his companions, sensing Elayne's strewn thoughts mixing with the growing love. The truths and assumptions ran through her mind. Gawain tossed his red locks from his face, his eyes dancing with the flames. "I would have done the same." Elayne felt herself smile, touched by Gawain's gentleness and love. "Ardghal- that was the man's name, I remember now. It meant "high-valor"."

Elayne felt the name run down her spine in a shiver. The name was only spoken once to her, escaping the lips of her dying mother. Can it be true? Her life was suddenly disheveled with the unthinkable. Lingering deep within her heart, she confessed she could believe in all she heard. "How- how did it end?" Elayne asked in a quiet whisper. The knights could barely hear her voice over the crackling fire. Galahad rested his head on his hand with an aggrieved expression. Tristan stood to his feet, fed up by an absurd, ridiculous legend. Galahad retold the ancient story that his mother had told him once when he was little. His eyes filled with lust.

"_They went to Sarmatia, she gave birth to a son." _Tristan froze within the darkness, a lump catching in his throat. _" He was taken to his Roman post when he was a young lad. When Laelia was with child again, Ardghal took her away from Sarmatia borders, promising to keep his unborn child safe from Rome's clutch. The story ends in the greatest tragedy of all. Roman mercenaries followed, disgraced by their actions. It is said Laelia was killed right before the daughter's eyes. And that Ardghal's daughter's scream of death was the last thing he heard before killing himself in grief…" _

Galahad's voice had gone from a modest tone to a stressed whisper, a sob catching his throat but he swallowed it back. A single tear rolled down Elayne's cheek. Elayne took a sharp look at each knight, even Tristan as he walked into the light. They all knew her most of all, and now they seemed to know even more than her. Now all of their faces were filled with a blinding rage.

"It's just another reason why we hate Rome," Gawain spat through clenched teeth. "But nevertheless, the legend gives us hope." Elayne scoffed, frowning as she turned to face Gawain. In the distance stood Arthur, his face like royalty. Roman royalty that laughed and mocked them all, but at the same time wanted to be in their place, to experience it all and live it and then relate to it. In the same way did Elayne feel.

"Hope of what, that some Romans can be kind underneath their murderous shell." The knights all shared a glance, and shrugged. Elayne wanted to point and laugh at them all. "It's just a story," she said with growing annoyance, yet tears lingered in her eyes. She shook her head with a mock smile and rose to her feet, wrapping the cloak defiantly around her. "Do you expect me to believe that this _legend _is a past my father kept hidden from me?"

"It does explain a lot Elayne," Dagonet said. Galahad and Gawain nodded in agreement, craning their necks up to look at her. Elayne's face was resolute.

"No it doesn't, why would my father lie to me, keep things from me. My mother's own death?" Elayne argued, seething her teeth. Galahad sighed.

"Elayne, he'd would have done it to protect you," he said sternly. He stood up next to her but she cowardly pulled away, her eyes as frightened as when he tried to clean her wounds.

"Look girl, do you even know your father's or mother's names?" Bors inclined. Elayne contemptuously opened her mouth. A perplexed look washed over her face and she snapped it shut.

"There are only so many likenesses before a connection can be made," Tristan responded calmly to Elayne's silence. She blinked hard, hiding tears, confusion knocking her full frontal in the face. It was like a whip crushing her spirit. All those years, all those secrets hidden from her. It was genuine love her father wouldn't speak of, Elayne's eyes daring him to whisper his lover's name. But he remained cold, hushed and injured. And now that made her heart like ice, unwilling to express the love she wanted to deeply. Could it all be real? It isn't true! Her mind screamed it over and over again. With a stubborn humph, Elayne excused herself from the fire. Five pairs of eyes followed her, all their assumptions coming together like a puzzle Elayne refused to solve and take in on her own.


	12. Connecting With Tristan

Chapter 11- Connecting With Tristan

Elayne huddled close to the fur tree, hiding herself within the dark branches. Galahad's eyes scanned the trees, searching for her and that only made her drift further into the darkness.

_Tears swelled beneath her eyelids, her father was smiling down on her with a plaintive gaze. He kissed her forehead, her hands wrapped tightly around his neck. He slowly withdrew them away, her hands slipping off his neck and leaving a cold feeling on his neck, like a ghost nipping at his soul. His daughter's eyes were once lively, and now were sad, dull and lifeless. Elayne remembered stroking a tear from her father's cheek as he whispered her name again and again, carving it into his memory. _

_Kneeling down, he offered his arm to wrap around her and she crumpled in his arms. With her wide child-like eyes she asked tearfully why mommy had left so suddenly, why the men in red paid them no heed. Her father hugged her for a long moment, deep down thanking the gods, and embraced her with the last of the love that still flowered within his broken bosom. Drying his eyes, he pulled a dagger from within his coat. It shimmered with a glorious brilliance that sent a shiver down Elayne's spine. Her small fingers intertwined themselves around the hilt and she held it with a firm hand. Her father watched her face, a growing glow and lust filling her eyes. He bowed his head in a solemn prayer that she would not pay attention to that blood lust that could eventually fill her heart. A hawk with its great wings spread out in a magnificent splendor was carved into the hilt and was waxed to glisten with strength. Her father held her hand tightly, the metal cooling against her fingertips. _

"_It was for your brother, now it is yours." His voice stirred inside her, filled with remorse and retribution. It woke a new feeling in Elayne. Her knuckles grew white as she clenched the metal. "You're all I have left in this world my darling Elayne, my daughter…" _

Elayne covered her face with her hands, her fingernails digging into her flesh. Hiding underneath Tristan's cloak, she wept bitterly. Everything was jumbled, disheveled. She couldn't decipher legend from truth, lie from reality. Footsteps drew nearer, but Elayne ignored them.

_The man grinned lustfully at her from beneath his blond beard. He grabbed her face, twisting her arm behind her as he kissed her lusciously. His hands went on every part of her that was not for a man to touch without permission and he ripped away at the lace ties to her dress, wishing to feel her warm flesh along his own. She squirmed but he only threw his yearning body against her harder. He pocketed her dagger, untying her dress. _

"_My, what a pretty little thing you are," he whispered with a hot breath. Elayne cringed, pulling away form him. He stripped her gown off, his hands running straight to her budding breasts and his eyes admiring below her hips. "Mine for the taking," he sneered, his wet lips on her neck. Elayne balled her hand into a fist, slugging him across his head. He yelped in pain, throwing her to the ground. Her body flailed wildly, her hand smacking the lantern that hung form the center of the tent. She waited, naked on the floor as he rubbed his temple. Cold ruthless eyes landed on her. He bent over and grabbed her, thrusting her back to her feet. His hands went everywhere, but he held her there, her legs open and bent around his waist. As he untied his tightening pants, he held her there and sneered like the devil himself…_

A cold hand clamped around her shoulder. In a flash Elayne spun around, the dagger she had stolen from the guards whipped out in front of her. The edge rang from being slid out of the leather scabbard so fast and reflected the knight's eyes to her. Dark brown eyes gazed down at her. Elayne stood, face agape, unable to register the moment when she had withdrawn the knife and he had grabbed her arm, for that was how they now stood in the darkness.

"You believe every story you hear now Saxon?" Tristan breathed. Elayne's body trembled, his ice-cold fingers scalding her back.

"Tristan!" Elayne said in a croaked whisper. She dropped the dagger, fingers numb. Hands in the air like a criminal, Elayne backed away from Tristan. His arm slid off her shoulder, his touch leaving a stain on her heart. Tristan stood rooted to the spot, watching Elayne intently. New feelings aroused within both of them, Elayne watching the muscles flex from under his rolled up tunic. And he gazed at her wild hair flowing gracefully down her back, her bare shoulder beckoning to him. He shook his head, she was not for him, she was for someone else, and someone who could give her greater love than he ever could. A hand suddenly flashed out from the darkness when Elayne swayed under the brush of the tree. She toppled over helplessly, his arms gathering her close to him. Thick sobs escaped from her mouth as she wept, memories wading through her mind, drowning her away from any joy.

Tristan said consoling words, holding her in his arms. The needles of the fir tree stabbed and poked at his skin when he kneeled down next to her, shushing her when Galahad and Gawain glanced over with worried looks. Galahad sprang to his feet, but then considered it and sat back down, shaking his head. Tristan felt his fingers rake against the hardened scabs of her back and he gritted his teeth together and let her go. Elayne awkwardly pulled away, her fingers still clinging to him with a sense of loss, a call for help. She wiped the tears away from her cheeks and eyes and immediately the stubborn look returned. She crossed her legs up to her chin, keeping a close distance away from Tristan. The knight squatted down next to her, offering an imploring look.

"It's not true," she complained. Tristan smirked slightly.

"You don't have to believe every legend you hear girl," he seemed to hesitate to say her name, as if he preferred scolding her with her reputation. He sat down next to her, not taking his eyes off her. "You hear stories of famous Saxons cutting of the savage Woads heads, of the great Sarmatian knights who battle without fear or guilt. All this legend can be is a love story to give men hope in Rome and the wives a security. It is told to the young girls to make them giddy about love," Elayne watched Tristan, his face expressionless and his voice dripping with the same indifferent peace he always spoke with. It made her smile, considering these topics would be so important to any other soul than his. She shook her head in frustration.

"Then why would they even tell me that?" Elayne retorted. Her leg moved and edged into the snow, a cold shiver running through her body. Her leg sprung back to her body like lightning and she clung to the cloak more, trapping her body heat. Tristan shuffled closer, a sense of unspoken affection passed in shared looks.

"Do you think the knights would rather travel with a Saxon warrior or a Sarmatian with a hidden past?" he countered. Elayne contemplated the question. His eyes stabbed at her soul. "Even you can't deny the similarities between the two, Saxon." His face was close, his eyes mesmerizing. Elayne couldn't breath, couldn't think. More pieces fit together suddenly. A wind encircled wisps of snow around them like a curtain, a shaft of the moonlight casting their shadows along the white, barren ground. Galahad watched the shadows creep closer and his back went straight up, his breath caught and his face mingled with anger and jealousy.

Tristan froze, his hand in midair. She wanted to pull back but couldn't, he was too close, too close for her to let go. His fingers grazed along her cheek, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

"Which life would you rather live _Elayne_?" Her name from his lips was like the voice of a god. The moment was suddenly all she wanted it to be. And it shattered into pieces when Tristan stood up, slipping her dagger into his belt with Elayne unawares. She blinked forever, looking up at him with a longing face, as if they should both reenter the dream they awoke from. If the story was true…

"What family did you leave behind in Sarmatia?" She asked with a sudden wonder. Tristan stiffened, slightly surprised at her question. He frowned down at her.

"A mother, father, aunt, uncle and a couple cousins," he shared bluntly. "Why?" Elayne was taken back by the sharpness of his returning remark. She tore her eyes away, lying down on the bed of pine needles underneath the trees.

"No reason," she replied. She remained still and silent until the crunch of snow symbolized Tristan's exit. A long breath ran out of her lips. Elayne closed her heavy eyes and feel into a deep sleep of her father's songs, mingled with the whisper of her name from Tristan's lips and the clear eyes of Galahad, binding her in an undeniable love.

_The green fields of home we long for…_


	13. Discovering the Concealed

Chapter 12- Discovering that Concealed

A snap of a twig made Elayne awake suddenly. A cloudy haze hung over the forest. It was only a few hours till dawn. The moon was tucked behind an idle cloud, the lightening dawn obscuring the shadows of the camp. Elayne blinked away sleep, rubbing her eyes and sighing deeply. Though the sleep was short, it still refreshed her. Sitting up, a thick lump filled her lap. Elayne looked down, Galahad's blanket covering her body. She looked up when the crackle of a dying fire caught her ears. Galahad himself sat down idly by the fire, poking it alive with a stick.

Elayne could hear the snores of Bors, the shrouded hum of Gawain. In the corner of her eye, Elayne uncovered a deserted horse. Tristan was nowhere to be seen. In the distance Elayne heard the shrill call of his hawk, a soft whisper to her ears. An insatiable desire quenched Elayne's fury at the knights from the previous night. Steadily getting to her feet, throwing the blanket over her shoulders, Elayne trudged over to Galahad. The young man gave her an acknowledged nod, not taking his eyes off the small fire. Elayne sat down next to him, her eyes penetrating through him.

"You looked cold," Galahad murmured. Elayne found the pang of jealously hidden beneath his eyes. She nuzzled her rosy cheeks, numb with cold, into the warm blanket.

"Thank you." Galahad shook off the words, his eyes showing they weren't needed. Elayne gnawed on her lip, taking a deep sigh. "I'm sorry about last night," she finally relinquished to utter. Galahad looked over at her with his clear blue eyes. Elayne pursed her lips. "It was just a shock really. The more you said it, the more I began to believe," she said with a pout. Galahad coughed a laugh, wishing not to raise her annoyance with him. His eyes twinkled amongst dark curls.

"I don't think they should have told you," he defended himself.

"I know, it's just…" Elayne felt her eyes hot with tears. "Everything's so jumbled now. I mean, the story could be real and it could be about me but that doesn't make any sense. I-I-" Elayne could barely fight it any longer. Hatred in her grew and she wished to take it back, but it was placed squarely on her father, the man she loved with all her heart, more than any other man she had known. For him to betray her like this was unthinkable.

"I just want to know why he would keep that from me if it were true." Galahad looked at her with a flourishing kindness, one that grew with each moment of being with her.

"Elayne, what do you remember?" he hesitantly asked. Elayne covered her face in her hands, running her fingers through her long golden hair. The whole thing exasperated her.

"I barely remember my mother or my brother. I was always by his side though when we were together. We were constantly together. I also remember a face, a few years older than me. He was always quiet. It was as if he denied anyone from entering his life. He was always on his own…" Elayne tried to divulge deeper. In a blur of blood, screams, broken flesh and scorching fire she let her mind block from the rest. Hot flesh was grinded against hers. "I was twelve when the Saxons attacked my village," she finished with haunted eyes.

Galahad felt the ceaseless intrigue in Elayne grow. He suddenly wanted to know every detail, bury himself within her soul and free her from such memories that terrified her. He wanted to piece together the torn past, help her discover that which was concealed from her. Elayne's eyes blinked back sleep.

"I dreamt of them last night." Her voice was a horrified whisper. Galahad leaned in. "The Romans burst into our door. We had finally built our new home in Saxon grounds, where we could be safe. There was a choked scream, blood and a wailing cry." Elayne's eyes were whisked to another time, another place. "It was my father I think." Her jaw clenched. "I hate Rome, and yet I'm afraid of them." Her eyes flickered to the fire where the Roman soldiers sat.

Galahad tugged the blanket, pulling her to him. Again Elayne felt a knight's face come close to her. But Galahad only shook her from her reverie. She knelt in his arms. Galahad dutifully clung to her as a protector. "Elayne," she looked up, gazing into his eyes. Galahad felt her cling to him, waiting for the next move. He leaned in, the heat from her tears, the touch of her lips…he pulled away slowly, and unable to have his thoughts become actions. "They will not hurt you Elayne, I swear."

Elayne took a deep breath to collect her thoughts, nodding and looking back into the fire. She snuggled into Galahad's arms. Galahad thanked the Gods the rest were asleep. The moment only with Elayne couldn't be wasted with burly men's prattle. Galahad felt her chest rise in a rhythm, her body loosening. For the first time, Galahad held Elayne sleeping in his arms. All the stubbornness and querulous mien precluded from him any greater affection than the two had already established.

* * *

A bird chirped loftily, echoed by the loud screech of Tristan's hawk. Elayne squinted her eyes from the brightness of the new day. She rolled over, nudging the abandoned bundle of blankets Galahad had used to sleep on next to her. Galahad had kept his promise. No single Roman dared to threaten Elayne while under the keen eye of Galahad. He crept away when the Romans finally sought for sleep, helping Dagonet and Gawain cook a quick breakfast. The sharp scents of the food were wafting over to Elayne, tickling her nose. Her stomach growled. Elayne heard the filial voice of Lucan. Her hands brushed along the cold snow.

A sharp poke made her eyes snap open. Two Roman soldiers stood over her. Elayne gasped but one man stifled her scream, covering her face with his huge gloved hand. His fingers sank into her flesh like hot iron. Elayne fumbled around for anything to protect her. She couldn't breath, her lungs twisting in pain. In a desperate but futile attempt to get free, Elayne rammed her elbow into the man's gut. A whoosh of air escaped his lips, his hand springing up from Elayne's mouth. She scrambled across the ground.

"Get her!" a Roman man shouted. The man doubled over reached for her, but Elayne was quicker. She searched for her dagger, getting to her feet. She frantically swept her hands over the blankets. Her dagger was missing. The commotion startled the viewing villagers and knights. Dagonet withdrew out his sword in lightning speed. Gawain swung his mace over his head.

"Elayne!" Galahad cried hastily, nocking an arrow to his bow. Elayne turned. The butt of the sword came down on her back. A shocked yelp died on her lips as she collapsed.

"Saxon whore!" the Roman planned to repay his aching groin, unsheathing a knife and placing the edge along her neck. Elayne choked for breath. The knights froze in their steps, a repugnant look bounced from one face to the next. The other Roman pointed his sword at advancing Galahad.

"Move and the bitch gets her throat slit," he threatened. Galahad challenged him back with fiery eyes. With a blur of armor, an arrow protruded from the man's arm. The man yelled in pain, clutching his arm as he backed away, smacking into a tree.

"You will not hurt her," Galahad cried through clenched teeth. He saw Elayne's look of fear, her tight lips white with anxiety. Galahad nocked another arrow, deep down berating himself for his foolishness. Elayne's eyes were broken, just like his promise to her. Gawain lowered his mace, offering to negotiate with a proposition.

"Let her go-"

"Ha! This Saxon wench deserves nothing more than a painful death!" the Roman interrupted. Galahad snarled malevolently.

"You will do no such thing!" he retorted. Elayne felt the knife push harder against her skin. She managed to give a broken choke. Galahad stopped, panic striking his face.

"What in God's name is going on?" An infuriated Arthur came from the trees, flanked closely by an impudent faced Lancelot and a wide-eyed Guinevere. Arthur unsheathed the great blade Excalibur. He pointed the terrifying tip to the Roman who held his own sword in defense, his arm from where Galahad pierced him stinging furiously and pouring crimson down his side. "Let her go or you die," he ordered.

"Anyone who perishes by Saxon hands does so because of her!" the officer accused.

"No!" Elayne screamed, a faint trickle of blood pooling around the knife. The man tugged harder on her hair, pulling both the knife and her skull. Showers of pain shattered her mind. Arthur lowered Excalibur, as did all the knights after him. From the cover of the trees Tristan appeared. His face was stricken. Galahad's eyes tried in a pointless attempt to not grasp the word that lingered deep in his mind. The same word echoed sharply in Tristan's head. Betrayer…

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked in his peremptory voice. The Roman sneered as he looked down at Elayne. He nodded to his companion, who let her go. She lurched forward. Anger flared in her eyes, she stared with a vast audacity to the soldier.

"Tell them what you know," the Roman spat. Elayne bared her teeth at him.

"Never," she replied in a husky voice full of abhorrent disgust. The Roman grabbed her by the hair, yanking her face to his. Tears gushed from Elayne's eyes.

"Tell them!" he shouted, the command ringing off the trees. He threw Elayne to the ground. When she looked up, all the compassion was wiped from the knights' faces. They all held a baffled look, with a demeanor ready to denunciate. Galahad suffered worst of all. Elayne couldn't meet their eyes. Gawain's interminable kindness, Bors' cockiness was now replaced with a brutish glare. Tristan had lost all of his vigor. His face drained of his levelheaded attitude and marked with dread. Arthur's eyes bore into her like the God himself, all the knights condemned her. Her father, her mother, they all pointed fingers and wept because she shamed them.

Elayne averted her eyes. She was a coward facing the excruciating injustice of truth. She mocked herself for ever believing it could go untouched.

"Please forgive me, but I desperately needed your help. I needed your aid," Elayne faced them all with tears and an adamant determination. " I had hoped you would never have found out."


	14. Judged and Damned

Chapter 13- Judged and Damned

"Never find out about what?" Lancelot snapped. Both of the Romans held a victorious smile on their faces. Elayne couldn't face Galahad or Tristan. She only looked into the humble eyes of Arthur, but he showed no mercy.

"The Saxons know of us because of you?" Arthur said each word in pain, speaking with slow incredulous words. Elayne felt only more guilt pile on her. "Why?" The excessive silence besieged Elayne's heart. Her eyes fluttered to Galahad. He glared at her. Tristan looked away, fuming in anger when her eyes met his.

"Arthur, you must believe me when I say I did it to live," Elayne began. "I had no other choice!" Sobs choked up her quiet words. Excalibur was suddenly at her throat. Arthur refused to step near her. Galahad and Tristan's bodies grew rigid.

"Are you telling me my knights are in danger because of you?" he asked raucously. Elayne hung her head, the silence eating away at them all. Finally…she confirmed the truth with a nod. The truth mixed with betrayal. It all was waded together in a seamless woven soul, a conscience that ate away at Elayne's heart. She wanted with all her being to keep her head high, to hold it strong. But the shattered, torn, mutilated friendships made tears drill down her cheeks. Gawain took a deep sigh, covering his face with a hand. Bors was shaking, his body trembling with a fury that aroused every pain, every curse, and every death by his own hands. Blood seemed to flow with no end from the tears washing down Elayne's cheeks in Bors' mind. Dagonet was unapproachable, his face blank. The words to Elayne's song echoed over and over in his head. The hope they all shared, the pleasures they held. The memory of fifteen years past suddenly meant nothing to any of them as they stared into death handed over to them like prey to a predator. They were all ready half injured.

If ice took the form of a human in flesh and blood, with all its coldness horded together and love stripped away, then it was locked in the spirit of Lancelot. He stared at her profoundly, his fingers winding around the hilts of the swords until the knuckles were white. All color had drained from his face. Elayne quaked under his hard glare. But nothing could compare to the trials of the two knights who knew her best of all.

One had her heart. The other had her spirit. Both completed her and Elayne hoped both would remain with her. Her dream was cut short, a brief reprieve from the works of war and hatred that dominated the world. Galahad was rigid to the spot. The very notion of breathing came in a painful effort. Every smile, her eyes, the warmth of Elayne in his arms, it didn't matter to him anymore.

First it was Gawain, stabbed in the side. Then it was Tristan, holding his face and scrambling across the ground. Bors, blood streaked his face and gushed from his mouth. Arthur, spit and blood squirting from his mouth as an armored fist collided into his face. Lancelot, the arrow protruding from his chest. Dagonet, the three arrows tearing at his flesh as he sank into the water…

"You will tell us what you have done Elayne," the voice of Arthur was not soft. It was harsh, hard and made Elayne look into his eyes. "Or I will kill you now." Elayne blinked away all cruel imaginations of being killed by Arthur in front of Galahad and Tristan. She pushed them aside, trying to think of her father. _Strength is one of the most important things a warrior has. But a knight, a knight has valor and forgiveness. Pride and contempt are ruled over by courage…_

"My father was a rebel Saxon, who didn't believe in Cerdic's ways," Elayne saw a few dubious faces, save Galahad's. "We lived in our own village, a group of rebels, kept to ourselves and did what we thought was right." Elayne felt her shaking voice steady slightly, but tears broke the firmness. "Cerdic is a man who kills mercilessly anyone at anytime. He destroyed my village. The soldiers claimed me theirs to do what they wished with me." If Elayne expected a shock of sympathy like Galahad's, she received none. "Cerdic spared my life for one reason."

Galahad met her eyes, his face peering deep inside her as he picked from the swamp of lies and faced the truth.

"Cerdic wanted to conquer Britain next, he needed a spy to locate all the posts and forts." Elayne felt her body break, but she did not yield to the heavy sickness of betrayal. Tristan was impressed, perhaps the only one of the seven, to see Elayne not swayed by fear. "Cerdic allowed me to live but only if I became his spy."

Lancelot grunted. "So what does that have to do with us?" he hissed. Arthur's face looked as if he had watched all his knights die right in front of him and he did nothing to help them. He glared at Elayne.

"It means Cerdic knew of our mission, the family, and the location all along because of Elayne, not just the British spy." His heartless tone made Elayne nodded. Hot tears poured like crimson blood, a lost life, down her cheeks.

"Villages began to suspect me, so I found a renegade, a British spy to take my place. He told Cerdic all he would need to know. He was the traitor to his own people." Her voice faded, her eyes wide in memory. "I betrayed my father…" The realization smacked her hard across the face. "I knew it then when I sent him to Cerdic. I wanted to go to Hadrian's Wall to warn you. The infamous Arthur and his knights. But Cerdic followed like a swift cyclone, a torment of beasts. He destroyed a British village and left me to die in it, but then the Roman soldiers found me and took me to Marius." She didn't meet the eyes of the two red robed, golden armored men who held her hostage if she tried any quick movements. "I am the reason we are here and in this mess."

All the knights except Gawain and Tristan were bent low in a scowling huddle mass of retribution and all the blood thirst in the world. Elayne wanted to whisper Galahad's name once more. It would be a reassurance to her. Instead she was fixed with a glare that held all signs of mistrust, all faces of disgust. Yet the plainness of it all, the lost twinkle in his eyes made a large sob spring from her lips. She had become obsolete. The eyes of all the knights remained, like birds keen on their next victim of prey. _Elayne, strength and love surpasses all signs of frailty and weakness…_

Tristan lowered his bow. He actually withdrew it back to his casing. Elayne took a step back, the new shunned out victim. But there was a look in Tristan's eyes, forgiveness, which dried Elayne's tears.

"Arthur," the man shuddered, his repugnant face locked in its spot. "To save my life, to live, to be _free._" Elayne felt her voice grow, the intensity of her words sinking forcefully into his head. "I had to do it. I've heard stories about Romans. Their wealth, their honor," she spat at the feet of the two soldiers. "Their lust. But you, you Arthur, are different." A gentle smile tugged at her lips, her voice flowing calmly like water. "You held your honor, you expressed your kindness. You showed to me, Guinevere, even Lucan that it matters not who we are. We are all the same to you. In your eyes-"

"In my eyes!" Arthur screamed incredulously. Elayne stood slack jawed, taking a shaky step back. Her ankle caught the Roman who stuck out his foot. Elayne toppled over, scrambling back. Tristan felt his feet pull him, his latent fear over Elayne replaced by his loyalty to Arthur. "In my eyes Elayne, I see death!" Arthur shouted in a booming voice. "I see all my knights dead because of you. Because you do not have the stomach to accept your past, because a coward like you betrayed your people in order to be saved by a greater demon of war. If not for your life Elayne, then why else?"

But Elayne could only stay dumbfounded on the ground. Arthur nodded to the guards, who backed away. Elayne watched the gleam of Excalibur wink in the sunlight. She held her breath, her eyes wide. A blur of flesh and steel came out of the corner of her eye. Dagonet leaped in front of Arthur, pushing the other man aside. Arthur stood, a mixture of surprise and anger masked on his face.

"Dagonet," he said in a slow, ungrateful tone. "Move!" Dagonet's hand went around Elayne, protecting her. He rested his sword on his chest, blade up. Elayne saw Galahad frown. He cared for her not. It crushed Elayne, broke her heart into pieces. _But…I deserve it. _

" I will not let you condemn her to death," Dagonet exclaimed. Arthur stared up, perplexed at his fellow comrade's behavior.

"Dagonet, move!" Dagonet shook his head again. He answered back in a stern, resolute voice.

"I will not."

"Dagonet, if you don't move-"

"She's the reason we're in this!" Lancelot suddenly exploded in anger. "This, all this danger is because of her." He pointed a berating finger as Elayne shrunk deeper behind the huge knight. "Let Arthur kill her and be done with it." Arthur showed a slight sign of uncertainty. He regretted what he was about to do. Galahad and Bors caught the face, the face of indecision and insecurity. Gawain hobbled unsteadily from one foot to the next. His eyes filled with remorse. Tristan tired to ignore the look Arthur gave him, but he knew that wouldn't help. He wanted to contradict what was about to happen, but it would be in vain.

"For God's sake Arthur, we could be home now, safe, if it weren't for her. You'll let us all burn for this woman!" Galahad proposed. Elayne shook her head in disbelief, unable to hear the words that freely poured from Galahad's tongue. Arthur chewed on his lip. _It's not her fault. It's the Saxons, _his mind reckoned with him. He looked her squarely in the face. _But she is Saxon. She's the enemy. She confessed to all the crimes she had taken to get them where they are today. _He clenched his jaw tightly, his chiseled face hardening.

"I will not die for some Saxon girl. I have a family, let her rot with the Saxons that bedded her," Bors announced. Lancelot, Galahad and Bors all at once started arguing over Elayne's treason. Her execution was entirely in their hands. Again, Arthur felt torn between two assurances.

"Enough!" he hollered. His eyes blazed like fire burning through the green forest that was the hazel of his eyes towards Elayne. Dagonet regretfully moved aside. "Tristan," the knight perked up, tearing his eyes off of Elayne. "You will take her into the woods, far from here." He pointed his sword down at Elayne. She began to shake profoundly, her legs wobbling from underneath her. Her stomach churned, her mind was throbbing unbearably in her head with every move. "There you will perish."

_But it's not her fault. _Tristan frowned in disagreement, opening his mouth to finally protest against his leader. "But Arthur-"

"Do it now!" Arthur's nostrils flared. Tristan, hiding his grudge, accepted. Elayne broke down in tears, yet held seethed teeth and fiery eyes at Arthur, her condemner. Her eyes were filled with undying willpower. Tristan felt his fingers prickle. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and steal her away and stay with her, telling her everything was all right.

"If any of my knights die, I'll curse you to a lifetime in hell Elayne." His eyes were hard with the truth. "I swear by God you will suffer." And so she was, persecuted to a hollow prison, a death she couldn't escape.


	15. One Last Moment

Chapter 14- One Last Moment

The drumming, the inconsistent bounding of the approaching Saxons, rang louder in Elayne's ears like a death toll. The cold wind made the icy branches snap against each other, like voices of hell wailing against her. They reached their long, skinny claw-like twigs at her, scratching her skin and drawing blood. The calls resounded like the whip she had to endure days before. Elayne gasped, it was only days? It felt like years, years where she was tortured by Marius and raped by the Saxons. It felt like ages ago she was hugging Galahad close to her and he held her with a love that dared not express itself. It was already fading, the look of Tristan, the brush of his fingers along her cheeks. Elayne felt her back prickle in pain. The clouds in the sky mimicked her eyes, filling with a dreary gray, emotionless. _Better I had died in that dungeon, _Elayne thought.

The sun shinning down in light streaks through the tress was like the traces of the tears rolling down her cheeks. She was alone, forgotten in all the eyes of the knights. All save one. She wrapped her arms tightly around Tristan, rocking back and forth with a blank, dead, face to all her surroundings. She leaned in on him, feeling his warmth radiate off him, flowing with a reassurance Elayne tried to grasp but couldn't. They were silent, the quiet drums and the sounds of nature bringing them closer together.

Elayne closed her eyes, trying to blot out the last image of Galahad, his glare at her as if she was the Roman officer himself who stole the small boy from a weeping mother's arms. Gawain could say nothing when she passed by clinging to Tristan. Gawain wanted to protest, scream, rush to the horse and shake Elayne till she said it was a lie. He was too noble to do it. Dagonet suffered just as much as she did, a part of him breaking into pieces. Guinevere's big eyes offered solace in her outstretched hand that grasped Elayne's firmly before Tristan galloped off.

Tristan now rode on blindly, his eyes searching for a visible trail, a sign of life beyond where he'd take Elayne. He hung his head in dismay, the fight between her and Arthur still running through his mind. He couldn't comprehend it all. Each clomp his horse's hooves made caused him to cringe. _There you will perish…_

Tristan shook his head, suddenly reining in his horse. The beast halted abruptly and Elayne raised her head in surprise. _If this is where destiny and fate lead me, so be it, just as long as I have one more moment with her. _

His fingers intertwined themselves in her hair, his eyes flashed brilliantly as he grabbed her. He threw away all the screams, the diatribe from his faithful companions, all the myths and realities. The birds ate away at his thoughts, the sound of their chirping in his mind. He pulled her face to his, his lips smashing up against hers. Elayne couldn't think, couldn't even open her eyes. Tristan's kiss was lushes, luxuriant. His lips separated her own, his tongue breaking through the icy barrier Elayne held around her. It had begun crumbling with Galahad's persistence and now shattered in Tristan's wake. Elayne's hands sprang to Tristan's chest, her hands yanking him closer. They sat atop the horse, the once simple kiss now becoming a passionate embrace.

Tristan continued, and where Elayne once would pull away, she found herself leaning closer. A sheet of snow caught in the wind, the light sprinkles fluttering down on their faces, a halo of all that is and still could be. A sharp wind drew Elayne's long hair into the air, trailing behind her back with her cloak, winding around Tristan and hiding the now zealous kiss. Tristan kept going, unable to control the feelings that had tormented his dreams for the past nights. And if the stories were true…Elayne hunted for the strings of his tunic, wanting to feel her hands on his bare chest. His fingers sought hers, twisting around together.

The hawk screeched loudly overhead, the drumming became increasingly louder. Tristan stopped and Elayne pulled away, a shuddered breath rushing from her moist lips. He opened his eyes slowly, lifting his face up to hers. Their eyes belied the truth. They didn't want to admit that their love was forbidden, not true in their hearts. Tristan cradled her face in his hands, his lips brushing against hers again. The hawk called louder and the drumming refused to cease. Elayne and Tristan both came back from the dream, into the snowy woods with a sinking numbness and graveness in the pit of their stomachs.

Elayne slid from his arms, but he encircled them closer, keeping her within his reach. Their eyes met and Tristan faced what he thought could be changed. But it was clear in her eyes. Elayne yearned yet for Galahad, and always would. To Tristan, it was shocking. Not just the love she wouldn't allow to diminish but that he in return felt no jealously, no pain. What surprised him more was that all along he knew who she loved, and yet still kissed her.

"You shouldn't be here," Elayne whispered. Her eyes had opened into the heavenly blue hue. Tristan raised an eyebrow.

"Neither should you," he grunted as he climbed off his horse. Elayne jumped from the other side, coming around to him, yet still hiding behind the flanks of the horse. Her eyes held the stubborn gleam once again. She shook her head. Tristan stared intently at her every move.

"You heard what they all said. Bors, Galahad and Lancelot. They're right. I belong here." Elayne hurriedly came up to him, holding her hands along his cheekbones. She looked deeply into his eyes, the dark eyes. The screams of her past rang in her mind. She laughed in a mock heartiness. "You would risk the lives of those closest to you because of me?" she asked in a condescending tone. Tristan cocked his head down to meet her bowed eyes. "I deserve this," she stated in a mumble. Tristan lifted her face to look up at him. He brushed the swell of her tears collecting on her eyelashes. His face showed nothing, no mercy, and no hatred. It was just there, alone and suspended.

"To be angry, to be evil, to be wicked all for the sake of a cause not of our choosing, is to be human. You don't deserve this Elayne, no matter how much you think you do," his deep voice assured her. The drumming became louder. The sun peeked from high in the sky. The hawk's wings batted at the cold air. Tristan grimly set his jaw, unable to wonder why he did such things that he did now. He lightly kissed her lips. "You can't blame yourself for this, no more than any of us can blame ourselves for the tears that are shed when news reaches of a dead son, father or husband." But Elayne shook her head, a tear lofting onto his outstretched hand.

"You're wrong," she said defiantly. "I should have died in that cellar, I should have told you all when Gawain carried me out of the prison. Nothing is the same anymore, and any deaths I cause will weigh on my soul. Every story, every belief I think I have about myself is wrong. Dagonet's wrong, I'm not Sarmatian, couldn't be even if I willed it so. Galahad was wrong for thinking he could change me." With every word Elayne worked herself up more, becoming a fragile, weak thing in Tristan's arms. She was full of anguish, her eyes locked in his dark ones. "And you…Tristan," the way she breathed his name softly made him use all effort not to embrace her again and leave the world behind. "You are wrong when thinking you can love me for a past that's a lie. All I am is a Saxon traitor," she hissed. Covering her face, she felt Tristan come closer, and then hesitate. "How do you live your life, you and the knights?" Tristan was confused by the question, but Elayne needed a reassurance to her crumbling spirit. His fingers grazed her lips.

"We knights are blessed in that we do not run from it. We seek it, grasp it by the throat and demand honor in our passing," he replied dryly, but all the same it caused Elayne's lips to curve in a smile.

"You live with such courage, it is something I could never do," she said in disappointment. Tristan shook his head in disagreement, scuffing at her words.

"You have all the courage in the world Elayne. You just need to find it." She loved the way he said the words so plainly, the emotion laid buried deep within his eyes. His gruff voice made Elayne wonder how such a love, harsh and broken but there, could be erected between her and Tristan, between her and Galahad. The way they could pull from each other all these feelings astounded Elayne.

A twig snapped and they both spun around. A black blur ran away deep into the forest, a Saxon scout. Quick as light, Tristan whipped out his bow, nocking an arrow. It whistled through the air, lodging deep into the man's back. He gave a sharp cry, his hands flying into the air and he fell dead to the ground. Tristan licked his lips, his eyes wandering over the trees and tracks of the forest, searching for another scout in anticipation.

"The army's not far," he concluded when the coast was clear. He unclasped his cloak, tossing it to Elayne. "Keep it, you need it more than I do." Elayne gave a smug smile. _I'm capable to live in the woods Tristan,_ she thought, but through her sadness felt her heart give a tug to the man who yet brandished his knives and bow. Tristan pondered a moment, and then suddenly nocked another arrow. Elayne's heart pounded violently, her hands squeezing into tight fists as the tip of the arrow aimed for her heart. But then Tristan turned away and the arrow zoomed through the trees into the trunk of one next to Elayne. It shattered through the wood with its force, the splintered pieces flying through the air.

"Stay here Elayne," Tristan ordered. He licked his lips again, this time he realized to remember her warm taste. "I promise Arthur will see his mistake and Galahad will realize…how much he cares for you." He hated to say that, to get her hopes away from him. _I could stay here, stay with her…_His hand brushed away the trace of blond hair that masked her smile and glistening eyes. He leaned in, capturing her gorgeous face once more. His jaw clenched firmly and swiftly he jumped onto his horse. The mount impatiently snickered to be off. Tristan shared in that eagerness. His fingers twitched to kill all the Saxons, everyone that harmed her. His lips itched to be near hers again, to lightly meet hers. He kept reeling his horse in, the mount jumping up and down on its heels. Elayne lifted the hood over her head. Tristan watched a shadow, like a shadow of death, wash over her face.

"I promise Elayne, after we kill all the Saxons, we'll come back and take you to Hadrian's Wall." Tristan remembered something and pulled forth Elayne's dagger from within his tunic. He threw it into the snow, his mind whirling with the heat of battle. He suddenly craved for it. Elayne picked the dagger, wiping off the snow to reveal a shinning radiance that reflected the sun that was rising from the clouds of darkness.

"Elayne," Tristan beckoned for her again. Limply she raised her head. "It's your choice to believe the stories. But even I can't lie anymore." Elayne's brow rose in wonder. "I had a sister. She was very young when Rome took me to Britain." Elayne took a step closer, her face wide with marvel. Her hand flashed to the horse's reins, stopping Tristan from escaping her life.

"What was her name?" Everything blurred in an instant with that question. The kiss seemed from another man as Elayne waited eagerly for the answer that could divulge so much. Tristan grew disappointed that he said anything at all. His answer could take her from him forever. He pulled on the reins, unfolding her fingers from it harshly. His face held a slick determination, his eyes a sly smile. He spurred his horse into a gallop.

"Tristan!" Elayne yelled after him. Her call echoed along the trees, running after him. But the knight rode on, his hair unfurling behind him, his movements as graceful as water along a rocky shore. Elayne stood, along with the light flurries hindering her sight from Tristan. The knight soon faded from her vision and the drumming grew nearer. Elayne drew deeper into the trees, the arrow marking the sight of her kiss with Tristan. Her breath was drawn tight back into her throat. She braced herself for whatever would come next, feeling the touch of Tristan's lips linger.


	16. Elayne's Vision

Chapter 15- Elayne's Vision

Galahad rode in a stricken silence. His malevolent appearance kept his closest friend at bay. Gawain watched in a perturbed stillness, following in the wake of the hush that traveled throughout the caravan. The women muffled the children's worried sobs and whines. They looked with curious eyes to the knights, but all remained silent and only rode forward, then they would gaze back at their own fortune of being alive. Galahad's eyes were plastered to the trail ahead, to the lake that soon appeared. The quiet caravan shared hushed whispers while the knights passed more weary glances once they spied Galahad's heated fury that exceeded beyond all limits. Even Arthur had a small sense of dread pass over him.

_What have I done?_ The thought rang loudly in his head as he turned back around. He led the band of refugees closer to the frozen lake, his mind shaken with the recent events. Tristan had yet to return, and Arthur worried that Elayne had woven a spell around the knight, captivating him and thrilling him till he begged to remain with her. Arthur felt the troubled eyes of Guinevere stuck on his back. He glanced her way but she looked away, her head holding the headstrong defiance in the air. Lancelot watched the two battle back and forth with looks, all the while remained silent. _Better to let only one girl trouble my mind, _he thought pensively. Dagonet stayed behind with Lucan. The boy eagerly looked around for Elayne when he had awoken that morning. Dagonet's face twisted in pain when Lucan asked where the young girl was.

"She's where she should be," Galahad had replied angrily to Lucan's question. The curt reply created Lucan's reticence. He looked up to Galahad's hard eyes that were softened by unshed tears. He said not another word. The caravan now rode in complete silence, the drumming like a plague sweeping over them. Galahad fumbled for his horse's reins, twining his fingers tightly around them. Gawain noticed a twitch in Galahad's lip, a muscle that Galahad chose to ignore. His jaw was clamped tight, and he fought tears with anger. Gawain opened his mouth, his hand halfway to rubbing his friend's shoulder in condolence, but he stopped himself. The sharp thundering hooves made everyone freeze.

A loud whine and Tristan burst through from the trees, his eyes instantly sought Galahad. The younger knight made an effort to stay invisible. Arthur's eyes flickered between Tristan and Galahad, intently watching the growing tension. One knight was faced with conflicting feelings he tried desperately to hide. The other finally showed them freely.

"Tristan," Arthur called, motioning next to him. Tristan grimly galloped over, passing a glimpse at an enraged Galahad. He rode in step next to Arthur. Arthur looked carefully at the lake. "Is it frozen?" he asked. Tristan nodded.

"We have to cross it Arthur, it's the only way back." Arthur sighed deeply, wishing not to put the people in so much danger, but knew it was the only way. He accepted and Tristan continued, "If we cross in a single line, we could easily make it across without breaking the ice."

"And if cornered by Saxons?" Arthur asked. Tristan shrugged, a smugness covering his face.

"Then we fight Arthur, it's the only way." Tristan gave credit to the way Arthur had cleverly glossed over Elayne's absence. But he dared not bring the matter up. Arthur was already suffering from his choice. Tristan decided instead to pester the knight that mattered most to Elayne. He turned his horse and galloped over to Galahad. Galahad tried to avoid Tristan but he wasn't about to back down from an argument.

"The deed is done, just as you requested," Tristan began in a sly sarcastic tone. Galahad glared over at him.

"She asked for it and deserves it," Galahad replied angrily. "Tristan, she lied to us all, she lied…to me."

"And yet you lie to us at the same time!" Tristan accused, unable to control his anger that was so often hidden by calmness. The rest all turned at the outburst with amazed eyes. Gawain laid a hand on Tristan's shoulder to comfort him. Tristan shrugged it carelessly off. Galahad looked down, fuming with anger, wringing his hands along his reins. "She loved you Galahad, but you have to hide it like it's no more than a village wench looking for a good time." Galahad looked up with icy eyes, laden with cracked hatred. Tristan moved his horse closer, yanking Galahad to him and steering them off the trail. The villagers moved ahead, their eyes fluttering from Arthur to his men uneasily. Galahad snarled as he pulled himself free from Tristan's grip.

"Go back to her then! If she's so precious to you, go back to her Tristan," he growled, steering himself back around to the other knights. Tristan's hand wrapped itself tightly around Galahad's arm. His dark eyes peered through damp locks. He licked his lips, savoring the kiss he shared with Elayne.

"She told you everything, didn't she?" he asked his companion. Galahad's brash eyes turned away, but couldn't belie the truth. Tristan leaned in, breathing down Galahad's neck. "And you listened, believed and would have helped her. She would have died in chains if not for you." Tristan's sharp eyes grew wary, scanning the trees. A pile of snow slipped off a tree branch. Galahad felt a tingle go down his spine. Casting the thoughts of Elayne behind him, he peered over his shoulder. A squirrel chattered in the distance. Tristan's eyes hunted the object they both sensed. Galahad carefully withdrew his bow, pulling forth a fledged arrow from the quiver at his side. Tristan's hands slithered down the shaft of a long knife strapped to his waist.

All was still. They needed a distraction. Galahad kicked his horse, turning his head away. Tristan followed suit. A branch cracked and both knights spun around, unleashing their weapons. Tristan's knife collided hard with the other blade thrown into the air. There was a loud ringing as they ricocheted off one another. Tristan's lodging its tip into a tree, the other sinking into the snow. At the same time Galahad released his arrow. It whizzed through the trees and landed deep in the chest of a brown clothed Saxon. He gave a small yelp before falling stiffly to the ground.

"A scout!" Galahad shouted, alerting the rest of the traveling caravan. Tristan gave Galahad an apologetic look but Galahad had already begun meandering his way back to Arthur. Tristan trotted at the rear. He passed the worried faces of Bors and Dagonet.

"Pick up the pace," he advised. They instantly began bellowing the orders, leaving Tristan in his silence. Blue eyes caught his and for a fleeting moment both Galahad and him debated going back for Elayne. Galahad cursed himself when Tristan continued on.

* * *

_Her mother swept a soft hand across her cheek, carefully tucking a lock of blond hair behind her ear. She smiled sweetly, watching her daughter's chest rise and fall in a calm sleep. The flicker of the fire from the hearth set off the glow of the woman's bronze skin. She felt her lover's hand close over her shoulder blades and finally dip down around her neck. Her husband stood behind her as they gazed lovingly down at their daughter. Both their eyes held a distinct sorrow over the son who had been stolen from them. _

_"Will he return?" she asked once as he wiped tears from her cheeks. His blond hair curled around his face, obscuring his eyes. He gave a deep smile, intertwining his fingers around her dark hair. His lips grazed against her smooth ones. _

_"Of course he will." _

_The statement now seemed farfetched, as if they had given up hope altogether. Yet that was what had originally held their love together- hope. He now cradled her head in his arms and she snuggled close to him. Her trepidation was growing with each year that past. He hated seeing his love so distraught. He still gazed at his sleeping daughter when she stood and faced him. Her young, still firm body leaned against him. Her sad eyes yearned for him. He transfixed her and she wallowed into his arms. Pulling her closer to the fire, their lips met in a passionate kiss, his arms winding around her hips. She threw herself into him, feeling his hands lower. A gasp came from her lips. She pulled away and looked into his dark eyes. Her heart swelled with infatuation. He brushed her hair, remembering the first night he met her. _

_The wooden door was thrown open, admitting three red-caped men that burst into the doorway. The little girl sprang up from her bed, her eyes full of fear. The gruff men all looked contemptuously at her. She cowered low into her bed, her whole body trembling. The Romans turned snidely to her father. He protectively stepped in front of his wife, who with her bright eyes stared with disdain. _

_"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted with forced courage. The Roman commander sneered, then motioned to his men. _

_"You're under arrest **slave**," he scowled. The man instantly leaped for his sword leaning in the corner with all its faded glory. The Romans disarmed him easily and held him by the arms, twisting them behind his back. The girl sat in her bed, watching her mother back away in fright. _

_"No!" her small voice wailed. The Roman leader unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the girl's throat. She froze, her eyes wide and her mouth locked in dread. Her mother screamed and rushed to her side, protecting her daughter with her own body. She heard her father yell in protest as the men ushered him out of the house. _

_"Don't let them hurt her, protect her, protect her!" His voice was silenced as a soldier rammed the butt of his sword into the man's skull. The girl cried as her father collapsed, clinging tightly to her mother. The Roman officer took back his sword. _

_"Hold him down," he ordered his men. They nodded and jabbed their knees into his back. The man cried out in pain, falling into the cold mud. The clouds grew dark and with the clap of thunder, rain showered down on the earth. The Roman sneered in a bellicose manner, whipping out his hand and pulling the girl's mother from her arms. _

_"Mother!" the girl screamed as she reached for her mother's outstretched, flailing hand. She just grazed her mother's fingers when the Roman threw her out the door. She slid into the mud, her lovely hair matted in dirt. Her eyes were caked shut behind mud. _

_"Stay where you are, don't move!" her mother howled back to her in through the wake of the wind. The girl froze in her spot. The Roman pushed her mother forward, making the beauty face her beaten and broken husband. Their eyes spoke the horrible truth. The life they tired to escape had come back to them. Their eyes met and both were filled with doom. The Roman held his sword in the air, a proclamation to Christ. _

_"By order of the Roman Empire, and his highness Caesar of Rome, you have broken the law and committed treason. By order of the Emperor, you will both be executed for your actions and all those you bear witness shall suffer **death**." The door slammed shut with a gust of wind, leaving the girl in utter blackness. The hollering wind and booming thunder summoned her to the window, open with sheets of rain pouring in. The only sound in the girl's ears was her harsh breathing. Stepping on the cold wooden table, she lifted herself to gaze out the window. She saw her mother look to her father and then raise her eyes and opened them to the heavens. The sword flashed in the air as she kneeled down into the mud. The sword was like lightning and came swinging down. A flash of blood splattered everywhere. _

_"NO!" Her father howled into the air. The girl shirked loudly, watching her mother's body limply fall into the mud, her head roll to her father's knee. _

_"Mother!" she cried, tears coming forth from her eyes as blood stained mud-soaked grass…

* * *

_

"Dags!" The crossbow had taken an accurate shot, sinking into the knight's great chest. Two followed after. Arthur watched the uplifted ax fall from Dagonet's burly arms. In a flash he ran out into the lake, skittering to a stop as he caught the fallen knight before he sank into the water. Lancelot and Bors yelled in anguish, Bors running to Arthur's side, Lancelot furiously firing more arrows, his arm a blur of motion. The ice shook beneath them, knocking them all from their feet. Instantly Saxons fell into the chilling water, drowning as their bodies froze in their horrific position. The rest of the army backed away in horror, looking tartly across the lake to the seven knights and one woman. They lifted their bows, hefting more arrows from their bags.

Galahad, Tristan, Lancelot and Guinevere all stared in stunned silence as Gawain helped Bors and Arthur drag Dagonet back. Galahad felt his nerves snap, his mind filled with Bors' swears and the cracking of the ice. He screamed in anger, baring his teeth as he nocked, aimed and released arrow after arrow. He watched men fall into each other, spilling one another with blood.

_"…He raped me…I couldn't do anything…"_

Galahad pictured her being ravaged again and again. He sought out each man, imaging him as the one who defiled Elayne. His arm shook with fatigue and rage, mixing chaotically.

"Elayne!" he shouted as he shot two arrows at once, but the name could hardly be heard above Bors' calls and the dying screams of the Saxons, the gurgling of the water. The world was suddenly still, silent and frozen. There was only Dagonet's pale face, his cracked blood-caked lips.

"Dagonet, stay with me," Bors held his friend's head in his hands. "Dagonet, stay with me!" Gawain hung his head, Lancelot giving Tristan a dubious look. Guinevere in all her rage nocked another arrow, aiming for the bald broad shoulder young commander of the small horde of Saxons. Her arrow took out the man next to him. Galahad fingered the feathers of another arrow, imagining Elayne alone in the woods. _It's not her fault! It's the bloody Saxons, the Romans! _His eyes blazed as he nocked another arrow. _Dagonet's dead because of the Saxons! _He viciously pulled back on the bowstring.

"He's alive!" Arthur confirmed in his deep voice, full of praise and exultation. He looked up to his astonished knights. "Tristan, run ahead, catch up with the others, bring back a horse." Tristan nodded, instantly sprinting away. Arthur gave a weak smile down at Dagonet. "We'll carry him. Help me, Dagonet will live!" he affirmed. The knights put away their weapons, leaping to help heft the huge man off his feet. Guinevere picked up Dagonet's big ax, resting it along her shoulder. She felt Galahad turn back and stare with a broken heart across the lake. Somewhere in those woods was Elayne. Ripped apart from those she had grown to love. Guinevere whispered a prayer, skipping over to the others. The whole time they made their slow trek back to the caravan Guinevere held Dagonet's hand and praised the Gods he lived. His eyes flooded with tears, and he glanced around them all, his eyes searching. He croaked something and then slipped into unconsciousness.

"Arthur, we have to hurry," she warned. Arthur blankly nodded, aware of how close his friend was to death. A sharp whine pierced the air as Tristan crested the hill, bearing Dagonet's horse. The knights securely bound the man to the mount and quickly picked up the pace. Tristan slowly walked in the rear, his eyes going over his shoulder to the shattered lake. _Elayne…_his mind yearned. There was a soft tap on his shoulder, making Tristan jump. Galahad stared at his friend with suffering eyes.

"Do you think she's alright?" he asked in honest with a modest tone. Tristan narrowed his eyes, glancing back at the abandoned trail. Finally, he nodded.

"She's strong."


	17. Jolkar

Chapter 16- Jolkar

Elayne was broken, lost in the middle of the woods with no one to comfort her but the animals that blinked at her uncomprehending and the whistle of the wind. She still felt Tristan's lips tingle her own. She buried herself within the cloak, crouching low in the ground, and leaning her aching back against the rough, gnarled tree trunk. Tears leaked from her eyes though she had let go of all her feelings. Her legs were growing numb but she didn't care. Her mind flashed with the dream of the little girl and the Roman raid. She broke down in tears, thinking of that dream over and over, feeling what that girl felt. Her heart was snapped in two, her throat hoarse from screaming, her mind haunted forever.

Her hands cracked and bled from coldness. Curling into a ball of trembling flesh and broken spirit, Elayne tried to bore the images of the Romans breaking into the house. She cringed inside when the sword came down on the woman's smooth neck. Elayne banged her hands on her head, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the dream to fade. She even welcomed death, but to no avail. The horror of it all made Elayne want to vomit. But no matter how hard she tried, the dream inched deep in her soul. She was lost to the outside world. All her senses were skewered, drifting in every corner of the world. Her heart thumped fast as her eyes rose to the hideous gray of the approaching storm. Her fingers wound tightly around the dagger handle, the leather rubbing roughly against her skin. Her mind went in every direction.

In one ear she heard Galahad and his brash voice. In the other was Tristan, his few words and whispers like music. And she smelled the forest, the rain, the mud but especially the blood. As it seeped closer and closer to her father's feet, flowed over to her hidden spot beneath the window. Her fingers felt the soft wood, the cold rain that trickled and chilled her arms. Her throat was dry and parched from screaming, a little girl tormented by her mother's death. Her mind throbbed like the thunder itself.

Elayne heard a twig snap and looked up. The desolate, bleak, dark forest loomed over her. Snow lightly melted in her hair, matting down the blond wavy locks. Her eyes were wide and as she looked she heard another snap. Her heart was in her throat. A gust of wind blocked Elayne from seeing the face that peered down at her. The edge of the spear appeared from beneath the green leaves. Elayne was barely able to register any thoughts but fear made her stand to her feet. Her breath was rushed. Little clouds of ice in the air, quick panic filled her gasps. Her white knuckles gripped the wood of the trunk, the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. Her chest rose in tremors, shaking uncontrollably. Her head bowed, her eyes up, Elayne was a demon trapped in an icy prison.

"Show yourself!" she felt the eyes, the creeping of the watcher as it drew close. The face hid back into the trees and the spear came back, lifted and poised. Elayne stumbled in circles, her eyes looking again over the clearing, yearning to meet the opposing threat. The woods were silent, no birds chirped, no squirrels chattered. Elayne fumbled to grip the dagger harder and in the process dropped it. She spun around when the branches snapped together. She kneeled down to reach for her knife, and as her fingers brushed along the handle, the blue face peered down at her.

A gasp rushed from her lips, her face in awe, which caught the man off guard. The spear lowered and a branch shook as the man somersaulted in midair to the ground. He crouched low to the ground, his blue painted body close to Elayne. She choked a shocked gasp and scrambled back, her eyes wide, yet showed no fear, but the same wonder. The blue man stood up, staring down at Elayne with perplexity. Elayne looked the man up and down. He had long brown hair, half of it braided with long wisps falling out. His face was marked with blue designs, the painted knots and symbols giving him a feral look and his skin a ghostly color. His chest was bare, painted in the same color. Years of war had hardened the man. His cheeks were chiseled. Scars ran along his muscular chest, trailing to his back. He wore braided leather armbands along his strong biceps and had tattoos covered all down his arms and back. His legs were covered by a dirty pair of trousers and leather boots. His weather beaten hair was held back by a braided head band and he had dark blue eyes that looked at Elayne indifferently.

Elayne gazed up at her first Woad in slight apprehension, the fierce warrior taken off guard by all her actions. She licked her lips, creating more blood to gather on her tongue. The Woad plunged his spear into the hard ground and kneeled down next to Elayne. In silence he ran his fingers over her cloak, running across the red silk Elayne was still dressed in. She remained still, her eyes locked on him, her nostrils flaring. His hand went behind his back and Elayne lifted her head high. But instead of a sword as she expected he take out he withdrew a flask of water. Over the rim he glanced at her and then uncorked it and took a sip. Elayne watched his Adam's apple rise and fall, the water flowing down his throat. Elayne yearned for the drink but held a blank face.

Again he seemed surprised and looked at her with a curious look. Then he handed the flask to her. Elayne held it numbly and finally took a sip. The Woad gave a small chuckle to which made Elayne frown. She sealed the flask and tossed it hurriedly to him. He caught it with a sly smile.

"I don't need your pity or your ridicule," she said under her breath. The man put the flask back in the bag slung around his back. He stood up, hands on his hips. He gazed down at Elayne and then paced back and forth, as if contemplating what to do. Elayne sat there with her head high, not afraid of what he would do. Finally he uplifted his spear. Elayne huddled closer to the tree, sheathing the dagger and looking away from the Woad that bore his eyes into hers. She watched his feet move back and forth and then stop.

"Come," he said other words in a tongue Elayne didn't recognize. She only heard that one word and looked up. She looked at his outstretched hand. Her mind contemplated what to do, where this would lead her. Finally she grabbed his hand firmly, entering the next chapter of her life. The Woad gave a slight smirk. He whispered a few more words in his native tongue and then looked at Elayne, pointing to himself. "Jolkar," he introduced. At first Elayne didn't understand but finally realized what he said.

"Elayne," she replied. The Woad eyed her closely, his head cocked to the side. He tapped her hand with the tip of his spear, slinking against her dagger. Elayne ruefully handed it to him when he gave a laconic look of pure seriousness. Then he motioned to the woods, all the while keeping keen eyes on her and the dark trees.

"Come, I will lead you," his voice was rough when speaking English, yet smooth when he spoke his native language. His eyes told otherwise to the roughness. Elayne also noticed his words were very curt and yet drawn out, as Jolkar tried to sound out the words best he could. When Elayne didn't budge from her spot, still wary of whether to trust Jolkar or not, he turned his dark eyes yet wan body back to her and held out his hand once again. Elayne felt the distinct friendliness in Jolkar and his only means of expression of aid. She took hold of his hand and Jolkar began leading her into the trees. And to Elayne's dismay, away from the direction Tristan had left. She saw the arrow reflect a wink at her and then became dull as the clouds submerged and filled the sky. Jolkar trudged with his eyes peeled forward, his gait very determined. He followed a trial only he knew of. Elayne watched the man pick out various signs that kept him going.

A spear head lodged in a tree stump, a red stain of paint wedged into the thick bark of another. A tangle of leather ensnared into a thick net of branches, a brush of blue paint along the green leaves. Elayne wondered as she past a pile of dead rabbits if this was a path that all Woads knew of or one Jolkar created as to not get lost. And where would the path lead to? Would it lead to a secret gathering of the Woads or a small encampment of scouts like Jolkar? A simple meeting place for food and rest? Elayne pondered heavily on this when a loud rustling of trees made Jolkar stop. It came in the distance, where a thin line of road could be seen. Elayne's heart leapt and skipped a beat. _Tristan!_ She let go of Jolkar and ran to meet the armored men when cold blue eyes looked at her beneath grime of blood and guts. Elayne muffled her gasp and slid onto her back in the cold snow. _No…no!_

"Elayne!" Jolkar ducked out of sight, sneaking up behind her with his shouted whisper. They both scrambled behind a tree, deep in the shadows of the forest. The Saxon craned his head to see again what he thought he saw, but the girl was gone. Elayne squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to breath and smashing herself against the thick tree trunk. Jolkar stayed crouched low, a bitter snarl on his lips. He glanced at Elayne, noticing her growing trepidation.

"My lord Cynric, what shall you tell lord Cerdic?" Elayne opened her eyes back into the bright white light. She peeked around the trunk, to where two Saxons stood conversing. One Elayne knew as Cynric, Cerdic's power driven and very obedient son. The other Saxon bore dark hair and beard that practically hid his whole face. He was a burly man and now was dripping in ice cold water. He carried a large ax about his back as he faced Cynric. The young man stood still, his mind whirling in thought.

"Will you tell him about Arthur?"

"What! Do you think I have a choice Raewald?" Cynric snapped back. "Two hundred men. Two hundred! And seven knights and a Woad bitch," Jolkar instantly perked up and leaned farther to hear. "They are able to defeat me." Cynric withdrew a dagger, clutching it as he roared in frustration. The man Raewald backed away, gripping his ax. But in his fury Cynric chucked the knife. It twirled in the air and landed in the tree trunk that Elayne and Jolkar hid behind. "Where's a decent spy when I need one? I need to know if I killed that giant of a knight or not." Elayne covered her mouth.

_Dagonet! _Her stomach flip-flopped. She looked carefully back around the tree, but Cynric and Raewald had already continued on with the beaten Saxons straggling behind. Elayne snarled and stood up, brandishing her dagger. Jolkar sensed her abhorrence for the man and snatched her back.

"Elayne no!" he said as firmly as he could. Elayne looked at him petulantly. "Enemy," he described the Saxons. Elayne struggled under Jolkar's strong grip.

"I know and that's why I go to kill him," Elayne replied angrily. Jolkar shook his head, unable to understand. "Let me go," she ordered. Jolkar only slammed her against the tree, pinning her arms up against the trunk over her head. Elayne's wrist wailed in pain and she let go of the dagger, hearing it plop to the ground. She finally relaxed her tense body, shrinking down to the ground in despair. Dagonet could be dead and it was all her fault. Her eyelashes batted away tears. Jolkar watched her break down and finally withdrew his hold on her. He quietly inched along the trees and seeing no sight of the retreating Saxons stood up, unaware of the sound he made as he traipsed back to Elayne, who was compelled to breathe only because her mind willed it so, while her heart wrangled with the words she heard. Dagonet was alive, he had to be. Jolkar kept a watchful eye on her, looking back into the trees for any sign of the Saxons. Elayne rocked back and forth, her eyes gazing into the heavens.

A cloud crept over her face and her eyes swallowed the darkness. Jolkar turned and was baffled by the sight he saw. Elayne was sitting in the snow covered ground, her eyes closed as a warm ray of sun encompassed her in a shimmering glory. Her hair fell in blond waves cascading down her back. The red Roman dress had been torn by the claws of the forest, exposing long gashes and wounds protruding from her smooth skin. The red gashes were dry, scabbing but held Elayne's harsh demeanor. The dagger in her hand was like a winged falcon, coming to her call. The tear that lofted down her cheek enthralled Jolkar as he took a step to her. The rustling made Elayne snap her eyes open. Jolkar was lured by the beauty in her ever changing blue eyes. Elayne held a swift determination.

"They are Saxon," she said slowly, hoping Jolkar would understand. "Enemies." Jolkar nodded, the sunlight lighting his blue skin. He gave her a hand and stood up, helping her to her feet. She sheathed the dagger, eyeing the woods.

"Saxon," Jolkar whispered in his own tongue. "Like you." Elayne's head snapped up in amazement. _You're the only Saxon that can say that…_Jolkar gave her a coy, knowing look. Elayne stood in bemusement and then nodded.

"Yes, I am Saxon," she replied in acceptance, yet with a downcast look. She was the renegade, the betrayer once more. Jolkar flashed a look of anger at the spot where Cynric had stood moments before. He looked back down at Elayne, who held her head high as he wrung his hands around the shaft of the wood spear, his feelings strewn about. With a grunt he turned on his heel and began following the trail again.

"Come Elayne, I take you to Merlin," he proposed. Elayne's brow crinkled in confusion but she couldn't refuse. With a last look at the road that led to the lake, she went after Jolkar into the darkness of the trees.


	18. The Knights' Return

Chapter 17- The Knights' Return

Two Romans cloaked in crimson bellowing capes came to meet them once the caravan entered Hadrian's Wall. All the knights were silent, Bors riding alongside the cart that bore Dagonet. Guinevere sat beside the wounded knight, redressing his wounds with a grimace. Bors gave her a worried look and she gave the same lingering dread. Dagonet held on, but barely. Guinevere thanked the Gods they made it here intact and safe. The Saxons had disappeared the way they had come, dispersing back into the trees. Guinevere also noticed how the Woads remained distant and low key. Not a word of Merlin had reached her ears and not a scout was in sight on their journey home.

As they entered the gates of the small fort, Vanora and the other villagers all came to meet them. At Bors' hunched shoulders, Lancelot's grim stare and Galahad's locked jaw, Arthur's vexed look to Bishop Germanius as he sauntered through, a sense of foreboding washed over. Germanius held a victorious look as Alecto and his mother stepped from the cart. Skipping over to Alecto, he held his hands out to embrace the young man. Alecto slowly backed away, his face stricken in fright. His eyes showed change as he relapsed over the past events. Guinevere climbed out with a somber look at Bors as she carried Lucan down. The boy looked around in a vain search. Spotting Dagonet's horse, he sprang from Guinevere's arms, rushing to the horse's flanks.

"Lucan!" Guinevere called, drawing up her skirts to chase after the boy. He slipped under the arms of the Roman guards.

"You there, boy!" they shouted angrily and turned with their swords drawn. In a flash Galahad drew out his long knife, aiming at the Roman's throat. His eyes made the Romans cringe in fright, scared by the man's icy face that sent chills down their spines. Lucan crept slowly to the litter where Dagonet lay. His hand was exposed to the open air and Lucan clutched the cold hand, tearing off the ring and holding it to his breast. Guinevere choked back her tears, her face a twisted agony of torments.

"This knight needs all of your attention and care," Arthur demanded of the villagers. He nodded to two burly men. "Find him a warm bed and a healer's touch. I want him to live knowing he was saved in honor."

"Aye milord." The two men and several others lifted Dagonet up from his horse, bearing him into the warm shelter. Germanius watched with a plain smile, the gaiety of having Alecto safe by his side hiding any notion to care for Dagonet.

"Ah, brave knights," he spoke with joy. "You are free." Galahad gave Germanius an exasperated look. His long knife slipped back into its sheath. Lancelot bared his teeth at the Roman who cared not about their wounded companion. Germanius ignored it with the simplest of ease. Arthur stood with a hard face, unable to approach his knights. "Come, bring us the papers," Germanius ordered, lifting his jewel encrusted hand to the sky with his snideness.

The knights had all dreamt of this moment. But to face it here, now, with no dignity and honor, was a nightmare. Lancelot came up to the man who held the box, hounding the man down with his eyes and unleashing the rolled scrolls like he would his two broad swords. If he had it his way he would splurge the blood in all directions, spraying Germanius' organs across the walls, that was dignity enough for him. Instead he crossed over to his greatest friends and handed each of them their freedom. Galahad snatched it away, thinking of only one person, Elayne. Her image swam in him, her eyes of the sky, her golden hair. She had trusted him and he had betrayed her, cut her down like the Saxon she was. But she was so much more than that. In anger with himself, Elayne, Tristan and Arthur, and everything that made this god-forbidding life exist he stalked off. Gawain watched his friend go, heaving a great sigh as he fondled the scroll that bore his greatest dream. _"The first thing I want to do is find a beautiful Sarmatian woman to wed…" _That dream seemed farther away than he had hoped.

Lancelot gave one to Tristan, who with his expressionless face walked in the direction of the wall, giving the shrill whistle. He stopped at the trembling and worried looking Romans, snatching the box and leaving with it tucked under his arm. Tristan imagined her in his arms, the feel of her embrace. The taste of her lips. He rubbed his chin. He wanted her, her by his side, to come up to her lovely smile. But he knew it could never be real, only a fantasy. He banished it from his thoughts, the wonderful thoughts of sleeping next to her at night. But Tristan knew he wouldn't give up and with determination as sleek as his sword he walked down the dark hall towards Galahad's chambers.


	19. Freedom

Chapter 18- Freedom

The youngest of the knights took a large swig of his wine, washing it in and out of his teeth and swallowing it fast. With a cough he wiped away the red juice that ran down his chin and sat down on the bench in the courtyard. In this place just a few nights ago he had been jolly, cradling a tavern girl in his arms and laughing with Gawain. He envisioned his sights of home, the grass, the blue skies, the giggles of his brother and sister. The rush as he flew his horse bare back up and down the fields. No walls, no Saxons, no Elayne…

In a wail of rage Galahad tossed the clay vase of wine. It crashed into pieces on the ground, spraying wine along the cracks of the stone ground. He stood up and paced back and forth, battling anger and lust. _She betrayed us. Dagonet's dying because of her. I don't care, I don't care, and it's not her fault. It's the Saxons. She is Saxon. It doesn't matter, she could have told us at the start. But she didn't, because she was afraid. Her eyes, her lips, her body. She led you into all this danger._ Galahad looked down at the scroll tucked into his belt. He took it out and unrolled it.

_These papers from the Roman Empire herby grant safe conduct to Sarmatia…_

Home. Galahad remembered it so vividly. Home. What he'd do to go back there, to never remember any of this…_this is all just a bad memory_…and leave all his closest friends behind? Gawain, Arthur, Dagonet? What if there wasn't even Sarmatia anymore, taken over by the Romans. _No, I need to see them again. And leave all this behind? And never come back? Yes, it's what I want. Leave Elayne?_

Galahad stood rigid. Elayne, what he'd give to take back all he said to her? _I love her._ Galahad froze. _No I don't. Yes I do. But she's gone, she's lost._ Galahad put the scroll back into its rolled appearance and under his belt. _Then I'll get her back. I'll find her and take her home to Sarmatia._ Galahad sat back down, head in his hands.

_"There's a story of two lovers…she was Roman, he was Sarmatian…they fled to the north…died right in front of her eyes…"_

_"I never remembered my mother or my brother…we were Saxon rebels…I hate Rome…"_

_"I'll protect you…"_

_"Elayne, that's a Sarmatian name…"_

"Then I'll get her back," Galahad said aloud. He stuffed his dagger back into its casing, running his hands through knots of hair. His grave face gazed down at the web of wine that was splashed along the floor. He carelessly kicked the broken shards of the clay aside. A new willpower and resolve swept through Galahad as he turned around for his room. Darkness loomed overhead. Galahad began leaving the silent courtyard.

"You celebrate a little differently than the rest of us," a voice broke into the shadows. Galahad spun around as Tristan sauntered over, still dressed in the dirty clothes. Galahad wanted to have the strength to face Tristan. But his arrogance failed him and instead he looked down at the broken jug.

"How's Dagonet?" Galahad asked after a moment's hesitation. Tristan rubbed the back of his neck, anxiety plastered in his face.

"Guinevere and the others are doing the best they can," Tristan finally said. Galahad nodded and simply turned away towards his chamber.

"Couldn't wait to leave eh? First minutes of freedom and I find you drinking." Much to Galahad's dismay Tristan strode after. Galahad shook away his fatigue and kept walking. Tristan kept his distance, creeping in and out of the shadows after Galahad as they briskly turned again in the dark halls. "And now you're leaving," Tristan whispered under his breath. Galahad gave a cough of a haughty laugh, turning and facing Tristan.

'What do you want?" he asked antagonistically. Tristan considered him.

"You're going back, aren't you?" he asked just as fast and with as much coyness too. Galahad stammered, shook his head and kept walking. Coming down a torch lit hall he slammed open a wooden door. Tristan leaned in the doorway with an arrogant poise. Galahad looked around his small chamber. One room had a few chairs and a wardrobe closet, where instead of clothes he kept weapons. The window opened into a vast garden below, a small little maze with bordering columns and beyond that Hadrian's Wall. The other room had the large bed with strewn olive green covers from where Galahad last left them and a small dresser with his clothes, though the drawers were open and the tunics and trousers were disarranged all about.

Galahad unbuckled his sword and belt, disarming of all weapons. He took hold of his papers, feeling the light document in his hands. For fifteen years he had fought for a cause not of his choosing. And now he was free. His lips lightly touched the paper and then he tossed it amongst his armor. He peeled off his dirt clod tunic, chucking it to the floor and grabbing a clean one.

"I'm going to find her Tristan," he said defiantly as he poked his head through the clean, warm tunic. He rearranged the dark coat and armor back on, buckling his belt and grabbing his sword. He looked at Tristan in the doorway. "We should never have left her there." Tristan nodded. A small grin curved on his lips. Galahad gave Tristan a puzzled look. Tristan trudged over, contemplating with pretend difficulty.

"You go back out there," he finally said. "You'll need a scout." He held out a gloved hand. Galahad looked down at it and gave Tristan a roguish smile. He clasped it firmly, hefting up another quiver of arrows before stepping back out into the warm hall. Tristan quietly shut the door behind him and followed Galahad back out to the courtyard and gate.

"I was so stupid to leave her there," Galahad berated himself.

"We all make mistakes," Tristan defended solemnly, returning back to his quiet self.

"But she trusted me and…" Galahad threw his hands up in vexation. "I just let her go." The twinkling night was far still, hovering in an ominous stare in the clouds. Galahad felt a warm breeze as he stepped out onto the stone laid courtyard. The rest of the knights sat nursing their drinks. An awed and wistful look was placed on all their faces, with the exception of laden worry for Dagonet. Tristan clasped his friend's shoulder. Galahad found himself join a grin to Gawain's hearty laugh as Bors joked to ease his troubled mind. Galahad's eyes swept up to the drifting skies that slowly welcomed darkness. His eyes were lost in the deep dark sky, his longing growing fiercely. Tristan floated past Galahad without his notice, and as a breeze caught his unkempt hair he wondered where Elayne was. With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes and dreamed of home.

"Well boys, we finally made it," Bors said aloud. The knights shared grins. Lancelot chuckled slightly, handing Galahad a tankard of ale. Galahad took a swig and sat down next to Gawain. The tavern women ushered in and out, filling up drinks and setting flashy smiles. Lancelot eyed one or two, keeping an eye on Vanora who gave him death stares whenever Bors looked over. Gawain nodded to a girl with long black hair before hiding his face within the tankard of ale. Her were cheeks rosy with a blush. Galahad stared in oblivion, imagining the music and beat to Elayne's body. To the sway of her hips, the light of her smile.

"Galahad has too much on his mind tonight?" Lancelot spoke noisily. Bors coughed on his quick sip, belching loudly. He sniffed disgracefully.

"We all know the damn girl that's on his mind," he replied. Lancelot grinned with a glare to Galahad, who stayed still and expressionless. He looked for Tristan, but the knight was missing. When he kept his mouth closed, Lancelot shook his head in disbelief.

"Give her up boy, you'll never see her again," he croaked under his breath, a drunken slur already forming on his lips. Bors nodded in agreement. "Besides, we have other worries." He nodded to the scroll belted at Galahad's side. Bors stood suddenly, slamming his tankard on the hard wood table. Then he lifted it into the air, a toast.

"To Dagonet, the craziest and bravest of us all. May he live to meet a woman at his side, to hand him his freedom." Bors took a look at each person that gathered. "May he live," he whispered.

"To Dagonet!" They all shouted. Vanora smiled sweetly, kissing Bors on the cheek when tears appeared in her lover's eyes. Bors responded by clasping his arm around her tightly, embracing her in a passionate kiss. Galahad diverted his eyes down at his swirling drink. A woman nudged his side, making him look up. She batted eyelashes and winked at him. Galahad ignored it as Tristan appeared from the shadows. His face said it all. The knights grew quiet, setting down their drinks.

"We've got company," said Tristan.


	20. Locnar

Chapter 19- Locnar

Elayne crept close behind Jolkar, her mind blank and frankly, unaware of anything besides the trail, the Woad in front of her and the weapon at her side. They had walked for days and Elayne realized as the snow began to reseed back up the mountains that they were moving south, yet still north enough to be considered in Woad territory. The cold chill had dispersed into a springy warm breeze that still held the sting of winter. Once Elayne slowly trekked with Jolkar into the wide valleys and forests, she looked behind her only once to the jagged mountains. The chill of winter now hindered by spring still lingered in Elayne's heart. She knew she was slowly following Arthur to Hadrian's Wall but she dreaded to see the place now. Jolkar rushed back and turned her towards her new venture.

"Elayne," he approached her carefully, understanding now how fragile her mind was. "Shouldn't delay." Elayne fixed an indifferent stare at him but finally nodded, acceding to common sense. Jolkar briskly kept walking, picking up the pace to a jog through the thick grass with Elayne at his side.

"Are we to go to the Woads?" Elayne asked slowly, Jolkar's sparse understanding of her language didn't annoy Elayne. She actually found their few words enough to build a friendship. Jolkar's head bobbed up and down.

"Aye, to my people," he replied. He gave a reassuring caress on her shoulder, an act of comfort. Elayne didn't know whether to be afraid or calm. If Jolkar treated her this civil, would the rest of the Woads share his hospitality? Elayne however could do nothing but follow Jolkar, his bluish form blending perfectly with the grayish sky and green woods that quickly approached. Once again Elayne discovered the secret clues that Jolkar searched for as they drew deeper into trees. Jolkar bent over close to a thick bush, digging his hand into the thorny brush, but returning his hand unscathed and holding a blue stone. Elayne was surprised by the bright color and inched closer, her eyes like a child's and wide.

"It's beautiful," she whispered softly. A knotted symbol of a star had been carved into the stone, adding to its shimmer and complexity. Jolkar handed her the stone.

"We are safe," he said. Elayne took in the significance of the stone and pocketed the treasure. Jolkar's eyes sparkled when Elayne looked at him. A soft touch and his hand reached out for her cheek, brushing tenderly along it. Elayne closed her eyes, surpassing a shutter. Jolkar sensed her body grow uptight and removed his hand, continuing on through the woods. Elayne stayed where she kneeled in the ground. She bereted herself when she saw his hunched back of disappointment. What she felt towards Jolkar was not the same that he wanted to feel together. Elayne pitied him for an instant, but only because Jolkar was a man whom's heart never decided.

She stood up gracefully, letting her long hair wind around her face in the breeze that flowed by. She held out her hand, reaching for Jolkar's tense shoulder. His eyes turned around on their own accord, slashing her soul like daggers. Elayne halted, unable to catch her breath. Jolkar's face hung sadly, his eyes wide with question, want and loss. Soft murmurs of the trees were like hushed voices in Elayne's ears. Their song was sad, yet hopeful. Elayne wished words were in those whispers, but the pound of her heart and the crack of the rope silenced them.

Elayne couldn't recall seeing the line in the ground, buried beneath the thick moss and dirt. She didn't see the flare of fledged arrows zoom past her. It was all too fast for her to register. Jolkar leaped back and froze up in amazement. Elayne squirmed around in shock, but the quickness was too late. The ropes blocked her from Jolkar, whose eyes darted around the trees, failing to spot the attackers. Elayne's movement sprang the ropes on the ground and they whipped around her ankles. The trap also dropped another set that had dangled above them, wrapping around Elayne's neck. She gave a frustrated yell, trying to yank herself free but to no avail, the ropes only drew tighter. She looked with wide-filled eyes at Jolkar. He took a hesitant step as a blur of blue and steel swept through them.

The cold knife pierced the skin of Elayne's throat, stinging her whole neck. She raised her head high. Her eyes met cold gray ones. Another dark set of eyes glared at her as another Woad emerged from the bushes, nocking an arrow and aiming at her heart. Five other men crept out, pulling on straining bowstrings and leveling arrows. Elayne's heart stopped as all the Woad men stood poised, their stern faces stuck on her. The man holding the knife to her throat spat at Jolkar.

"_You bring a traitor Jolkar!" _he asked in incredulity, speaking in the ancient Woad tongue. Elayne listened carefully to the scramble of words, unable to decipher them. Jolkar's eyes looked from one man to the others with hostile and cautious eyes. They way they glared at him made him feel uneasy and all the more careful to choose what he said.

"_You believe me to betray my own people Locnar?"_ he retorted back in calm expression, his tongue easily forming his own familiar language in ease. The men shifted restlessly, but the man named Locnar faced him and was unmoved. He shoved a fist into Elayne's back, making her jump and the knife dig deeper. She stifled her grunt of displeasure and pain. Jolkar's eyes flashed to her fear filled face.

"_Then what to you call this Saxon beast? A pet?" _he shouted into Elayne's ear. Fear still clouded and clung to her heart, though she couldn't understand them.

"_She was abandoned by the Roman officer, I trust her,"_ Jolkar defended. Locnar seethed his teeth.

"_What would the great Arthur want with a Saxon?"_ Locnar said Arthur's name like he was a demon in the night, crossing over to the Woads like a plague. Jolkar shifted on his feet, watching the arrows lower slightly but still perched.

"_A knight…saved her from a Roman, Marius. He was the man who captured Guinevere."_ Elayne caught the names, looking at Jolkar in disbelief. He knew about Marius! How long had he been tracking her? The man Locnar thought the same as she, though took it in hilarity and laughed.

"_You've been stalking her Jolkar, and started an infatuation."_ He completely ignored Guinevere's name. Jolkar bared his teeth, clutching his spear and brandishing its tip in Locnar's face. Locnar frowned and threw Elayne aside, the knife brushing her skin. She fell in a tumble of ropes and limbs, looking up as Locnar and sheathed the knife and withdrew a spear that had hung along the ridge of his back.

"_You challenge me Jolkar?"_ he scoffed. Jolkar met the man's coy smile with hard eyes. The two began advancing, circling each other. Elayne slithered out of her bonds.

"Don't!" she shouted, not caring if they didn't understand her. Perhaps the urgency of her voice would make them come to their senses. She stepped out of the cords and came to the two men. She turned to Jolkar. "Too much blood is spilt on this land." Jolkar rocked on his feet. Elayne's shaky voice grew firm. "Don't shed blood of your own people." She laid a reassuring hand on Jolkar's tense arm, her livid eyes staring deep into him. _Don't shed blood for me_, her eyes spoke. Jolkar's hands held the spear till his knuckles grew white. He laid unforgiving eyes on Locnar, who had lowered his spear.

"For a Saxon, she speaks truth," he replied in Briton for Elayne to hear. Elayne looked over her shoulder. For a second his eyes showed selflessness and consideration before realizing whom he gazed at. Then they hardened. _"We bring her for the Elders to deal with,"_ he answered in native tongue.

He shouted commands to the other men, who nodded and began gathering the ropes. Locnar withdrew a short leather thong, binding Elayne's hands together harshly. He handed the other end to Jolkar, who glared at Locnar. "_I still don't trust her. And I don't deal with Saxon scum," _he answered to Jolkar's quizzical look. The he turned his pale blue back and drew into the darkening woods. Jolkar gave a warning look to Elayne, and then gently pulled her forth. Elayne stood rooted, insulted by the way he still kept her bound. Jolkar sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Grow used to his temper," he advised. "We spent many years among one another." When Elayne still gave an inquiring look, Jolkar gave a warm smile. "He's my brother."


	21. An Ended Journey

Chapter 20- An Ended Journey

Locnar led them to a clearing in the woods, where six horses danced about impatiently, tethered to the trees. Locnar and the men began untying the reins and Locnar carelessly threw a set of reins to Jolkar. Jolkar's eyes were downcast, an ambiguous look placed on Locnar.

"She rides with you," Locnar ordered, stiffly leaping onto his horse and heading south. "We must make it back before night truly sets in." His eyes looked toward the hazy sunset. "They are coming."

He spurred his horse into a fast canter. Jolkar and Elayne watched the men follow diligently. Elayne grasped Jolkar's waist tightly as the spirited mare leaped after, the cold wind cutting through her spirits and drying her tears.

* * *

Arthur scrambled up the steps, taking them two at a time as Guinevere bounded after with her skirts gathered in her hands. All the knights stood silently, their faces grave and their eyes creeping back over the wall with wary and dubious looks. They looked to Arthur, but his eyes were stuck on the twinkling fires of the opposing threat. The Saxons camped outside of Hadrian's Wall. People below were speaking in hushed whispers, the women gasping in fear and the men strutting about with mixed worry and delight. Guinevere pushed herself to the wall next to Arthur, meeting his stare with resolute dark eyes. Arthur looked to all his knights.

Bors and Gawain shifted uncomfortably. Tristan held the unchanged expressionless face, looking up at Arthur through dark locks. Galahad fidgeted uncontrollably, winding his fingers in his beard in contemplation, his eyes looking once at Tristan, who held a squint of a stare, though now a little hesitant as he set down his quiver of arrows. Galahad sighed deeply. _Elayne_, his mind wandered, _Elayne, where are you? _Lancelot's lush eyes held the same arrogance. But when Arthur met his glance, he looked away in shame. _You fool, _his eyes spoke to Arthur. The Roman commander planted his foot firmly.

"Knights," he spoke with a boom of leadership. "My journey with you must end here." And with that he left the astounded knights, excused himself and walked briskly down the stone steps from whence he came. The knights stood frozen. Guinevere looked back out at the camp with her jaw clamped tightly shut, her eyes ablaze. Lancelot's agitated face made her look up. The anger in her eyes made Lancelot sigh.

"Arthur…"he called out, followed down the steps with an overeager Guinevere at his side. "This is not your fight…" his voice trailed off and the remaining knights faced each other. Their eyes said what their voices could not.

"After all this, never thought it would end here, like this," Bors said somberly. Gawain nodded, looking down sadly at the ground. Tristan's sharp eyes still hung over the battlefield.

"Who says it ends here?" he insinuated in his nonchalant voice. Galahad and Bors looked at each other, small grins appearing on their grim faces. Gawain's head snapped up in surprise.

"Arthur would never let us," he replied. Galahad snorted, cocking an eyebrow.

"We are free men," he said archly. Gawain shook his head and began to walk away. His back slumped and he turned around.

"So after all of this, we'll fight in a battle and be killed. Fifteen years and this is our freedom." His eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe he was the only one talking sense, to the others he sounded like Galahad's normal ranting behavior. Galahad closed his mouth tightly, looking at Gawain with hurt-filled eyes.

"We can't leave Arthur," Tristan announced after some silence.

"Vanora can take care of Dagonet," Bors said. "She's always had a soft spot for him." His face became livid and facetious. "Are we ready to throw fifteen years away in the blink of an eye, away from this place?" Galahad turned his back on his comrades. _With Elayne, I would gladly. _Too many thoughts were running through his head for him to think clearly. He looked beyond the camp to the woods. His mind fought with his heart. He wanted to leave, to go home to Sarmatia. But to leave Arthur to his death? Galahad closed his eyes, his heart twisting in pain. And Elayne? He looked back to Tristan's face full of audacity. Bors smiled.

"You'll be looking for that girl, won't you Galahad?" The younger knight frowned, his face quickly becoming stern.

"She did warn us about the Saxons," he said scornfully. He waved his hand to the camp. "And all we did was leave her to them, like an animal." The lividness in Bors' eyes died as Galahad stomped off. Gawain looked to the two other knights.

"I can't tell what he wants anymore, that girl or his freedom." Bors strode past Gawain. He rubbed his eyes, resting his hand on his chin. "We all had a dream once, hell I know I didn't dream of **this** place. Or Vanora for that matter." Tristan cocked his head to the side, picking his fingernails with an arrow.  
"Would you dream of you're life without this place, now that it's happened?" he contradicted all the jumbled thoughts that had been lifted into the air. Bors grunted a laugh, spying Vanora among the bustling, worried crowd. He looked back at Tristan and Gawain with a boyish grin.

"No Tristan, I can't say I would," he answered with the small smug tone and continued on his way. Gawain gave a quick forced grin before turning back to the wall. Though he knew Arthur wished them all to leave, it seemed his fate was sealed in meeting the Saxons tomorrow in battle. The wind blew to Tristan and Gawain the scent of smoke and cooking meat. Gawain could already hear the clanging swords, the screams of the dying men, the sharp war call of Bors as he careened his horse into the heart of bloodthirsty Saxons. He could taste the blood on his lips, the sweat that poured down his face. He could feel the ache in his body, the wounds that cut deep. A sneering face looking down on him contemptuously. _I don't want death yet,_ he finally decided. A chill ran down his spine, reminding him of the frail girl they had left behind.

"She has an indescribable beauty," Gawain said softly. "That's what has smitten him so." Tristan stopped picking his nails along his arrow. His fingers itched to pull an arrow back on his bowstring and to have it sail through the air, to hear its sharp whistle like the scream of a girl. Gawain looked at Tristan. "Does she feel the same way?" Gawain refused to think of Elayne dead, her gentle yet raw spirit filling a fire of passion in his friend's heart. Tristan nodded. His unaffected face masked his latent feelings of how he'd rather crush his lips against hers. Tristan looked up to the clouds again, listening carefully with his attuned hearing for the flutter of wings.

He whistled softly and the hawk dived to Tristan's outstretched arm. It remained silent and Tristan saw its flustered look as it swiveled its head to the army. Gawain watched as his fingers grazed the edge of his papers tucked in his jacket. Tristan stroked the bird's ruffled feathers.

"Did you bring me back anything worthwhile?" he clicked his tongue and held out his hand. The hawk dutifully drew out its leg. Gawain blinked, recognizing the crimson material. Tristan plucked it from the hawk's claws, fingering the silk and cupping it to his face. Gawain's eyes lit up.

"Is it…" he didn't need to finish his sentence, for a small smile curved Tristan's lips. He handed the ripped dirty cloth to Gawain. It was the red silk of Elayne's dress.

"She's alive," Tristan affirmed.

* * *

Elayne's body swayed on top of the horse, clinging to Jolkar only because she willed her fingers to stay together. Her head bobbed up and down and her eyes would close with much needed rest, then snap open when the horse jolted.

Her head didn't rest on Jolkar's back like it did Galahad's. Something about the woods, the Woads surrounding her and Locnar's stare precluded her from being calm and set her teeth on edge. They rode on till the only sounds were the crickets and the horses' fretful whines. Elayne rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to stay awake. She looked up as Locnar looked at her. His gray eyes held the same indifference that Jolkar had first placed on her. As he turned to gaze at her, she noticed the similar features between the two brothers. Locnar held the same chiseled jaw, the long face. His hair was slightly darker and cut short, always framing his face. His body was leaner and thinner. He was taller and more agile than Jolkar. Elayne wondered why she had not perceived how similar the two looked before.

Locnar's poignant look faded as he turned his head, still keeping her within the corner of his eye. Elayne saw the plaintive look come to his ashen face, lit up by the moonlight that hovered over them. Elayne pondered what thoughts had crossed Locnar's mind, when her own came in her head. The past few days came crashing down on her shoulders. Suddenly Elayne wished for her father. She wanted to see his face, hear his voice, and feel his strong arms protect her. Elayne dreamt of him in her sleep and felt the hot desire that flowed through her when Galahad appeared, wrapping his arms in her father's place. The healing wounds on her back prickled as she imagined his touch, the way his eyes told her all would be fine. A chill ran down her aching spine. The horse suddenly halted and she peered over Jolkar's shoulder.

Two clad men in leather armor appeared from the shadows. Locnar held up a peace-giving hand. Elayne strained to hear the muffled voices, but only captured Locnar jutting his finger at her. The two men laid malevolent eyes on Elayne and finally nodded. All the men climbed off their horses. Elayne followed quickly after Jolkar as his restraints pulled her down forcefully. The two men took the horses' reins, allowing Locnar, Jolkar, Elayne and the rest to pass. Locnar led them through a thin trail, holding the branches from his face. Elayne stumbled on a root and felt the branches grab the end of her gown. She pulled on it roughly and the fabric snagged and tore away, leaving a piece of dirty cloth in the ground. Locnar parted thick bushes and the flames of a small fire glowed in their faces. He grabbed the restrains from Jolkar. Elayne got a good look at the three Elders before her face met the most ground.

Her chest crushed her hands, but the dirt swept into her mouth hushed Elayne's cry. She coughed up dirt, wiping her lips as she sat back up. Locnar pointed to Elayne.

"_Saxon,"_ she heard him speak. The three Elders, haggard and old, laid emotionless eyes on Elayne, though they filled instantly with hate. Locnar glared at Jolkar, who refused to shrink back. _"Jolkar has been scouting the Saxon spy for some time, she was found in Briton territory." _

"_But on Roman claimed land, where he tortures and kills innocent people!" _Jolkar shouted over his brother. _"She was free from any Saxons." _

"_But a Saxon spy she still is," _one of the Elders spoke out harshly. The three instantly consulted. Locnar held his hands patiently behind his back, waiting with a gleam in his eye. Elayne couldn't breath, as she knew her fate was about to be decided in seconds. The Elder that had spoken stood up, looking down at Elayne with his dark face. It made Elayne grimace in fright.

"_She is enemy and must be dealt with as such." _His head jerked to the side and Locnar smiled triumphantly. Elayne's eyes swept frantically to Jolkar, who gripped his spear. _"Kill her." _The five men and Locnar leaped on Elayne. She shrieked, feeling Locnar grab the dagger from her belt.

"No!" she screamed but the men shoved her ahead harshly. "Jolkar!" She looked back over to the Woad, but the warrior's face was slumped in defeat. As the men began taking her back the way they came, a loud voice yelled from the bushes as two bodies slinked out from the trees.

"Don't harm her!" Elayne's tear stained face looked up at the woman who had spoke. Her heart leapt as she looked into the fearless and fierce eyes of Guinevere.


	22. Preparing for Battle

Chapter 21- Preparing for Battle

The abrupt way that Guinevere entered the scene made everyone stop still. The praise that filled the air couldn't diminish the confusion that marked Elayne's face as Guinevere stepped into the light. Standing before her was a warrior, abiding in strength and power. Locnar and Jolkar both remained still. Guinevere's hair was bound back in thick waves. She wore a leather bodice that bound her breasts and protected her chest. A bronze torque clung to her neck. She wore a light pair of trousers, where multiply knives hung at her sides. On her shoulder rested a quiver of arrows and her bow was strapped to her back. Blue swirls of paint adorned her cheeks, adding to the ferocity of her appearance.

"Let her go!" she bellowed again. Locnar and the men dropped Elayne to the ground. Jolkar and Guinevere rushed to her side. Guinevere laid a ginger hand on her back; wiping away the blood that seeped through the cracked scabs from days of frigid, dry air. The other figure swept itself out of the darkness with majestic grace. Cradled in Locnar's arms, Elayne looked up when a pair of booted feet and the end of a staff stabbed at the ground. Her eyes once filled with trepidation, now shinnied in awe. Merlin's dark skin glistened in the firelight. His eyes held a magnanimous feel that caused anyone to bow in respect. He wore robes of animal fur, his aged hand holding a gnarled wooden staff. Elayne gave him a cynical look. Merlin was a dark magician, so the stories went and she looked with apprehension at his staff, waiting for his powers to smite her.

"Guinevere!" Locnar finally came out of his shock when Merlin bent down, cupping Elayne's chin in his old, withering hand. Elayne became trapped by his sagely being, enthralled by the knowledge he held in his face, deep within his eyes. Guinevere glared up at Locnar, but laid reverent eyes on the surprised Elders and Merlin.

"Please do not harm her," Guinevere pleaded in her strong voice. She turned to Merlin. "This is the girl that comforted me while I was prisoner at Marius' estate. She means you no harm." Merlin looked back down at Elayne and her wide childlike eyes. His touch soothed her and her rapid heart slowed.

"Ah, the Saxon," he crooned. Elayne grew shameful, biting her tongue and lowering her eyes. Merlin frowned, removing his hand. "Elayne," the way he said her name, with no hate, with no accusations, made Elayne gaze up at him. "I have heard a great deal about you." Guinevere beamed and helped Elayne to her feet. Merlin laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "You have been through much."

"Elayne is the one who gave warning to Arthur and his knights about the approaching Saxons," Guinevere explained to the Elders. Locnar glowered, still unable to trust Elayne.

"So then why was she deserted?" he asked slyly. Guinevere's face was contorted in flaring annoyance with Locnar, but he retorted back with his sullen expression. Jolkar held Elayne close to him, looking from his brother to the fierce warrior woman. Merlin didn't look to Guinevere for the answer, but instead to Elayne. Elayne's heart clenched when his wise eyes bored deep into her. Locnar's lip curved up in a flippant sneer. Elayne felt all the eyes on her and began to shake terribly. Merlin gave a sympathetic gesture and unhooked his robes of warm fur, laying it on Elayne's chilled shoulders.

"Locnar," Merlin addressed the man, who lifted his head high with pursed lips. "Let the past die," Merlin still doted down on Elayne like she was a child. "And look now to a future that beckons to you." Elayne's brow creased in questioning, but he ignored it. Instead he turned to face the Elders.

"The Gods have granted is the safe return of Guinevere." Guinevere paused and turned to the Elders. "However," Merlin continued. "Dark times are ahead." Elayne wrapped the fur around her closely. Jolkar backed away to give her space. Guinevere kneeled down in front of the Elders.

"The Saxons have followed Arthur and the knights, a whole army," she reported. The Elders' faces were washed away of any dignity and now housed fear and worry. "Arthur alone will stand up to them. He wishes his knights to seek the freedom they have earned." Locnar snorted and crossed his arms. Guinevere looked up out of the corner of her eye with a threatening look. The news made Elayne turn on him hotly too, tears in her eyes. Locnar felt the rest as well demand an explanation for his interruption.

"The famous Knights flee like cowards. Let Arthur die, it is his choice." Guinevere snarled, wheeling back round to the Elders.

"I will not leave Arthur to his death, it is time for the Woads to fight!" Guinevere proposed whole-heartedly in a shout. Locnar shook his head in disdain. Elayne looked over her shoulder at him. Locnar's head snapped back as he considered her deeply. Her blue-gray eyes searched within him.

"And you Merlin, what so you believe of Artorius?" Elayne blinked and looked back at Merlin.

"Galahad…" she whispered in thought, unaware of both Guinevere and Jolkar looking over at her.

"Arthur is a strong man and can lead our people to victory against the Saxons." He rested a fatherly hand on Guinevere and the young woman smiled modestly. "It is time we had a true king and Guinevere believes in Arthur, as do I." Guinevere's face became determined again. "Let the future lead us to better days. The Woads will fight with Arthur at dawn." The Elders sighed, taking it all in but finally nodded in acceptance.

"And the Saxon?" one of the Elders asked, indicating Elayne with the reviled word. Locnar's face was irritable towards her. Merlin looked back at Elayne, his eyes warming her reassurance.

"For what she has done to help Arthur and our people, she will be treated and cared for." Locnar's eyes were cold, and Elayne matched them with an equal roguish grin behind her back on him. "She has been through much. Guinevere," the young Woad's head sprang to attention. "Make sure she gets food and drink and clothes for the night."

"But my lord-" Locnar began. But Merlin's wave of a hand cut him off. Locnar set his jaw, his lips tight and in a huff walked off, curses cutting through the silence. Merlin watched Locnar and the other men disappear back into the woods with no regret but mainly concern. Guinevere excused herself and grabbed Elayne's hand, leading her into the trees.

"Jolkar, stay a moment," Merlin ordered. Elayne fixed Jolkar a carefree smile and his eyes grew hopeful as he sat down next to the Elders.

* * *

Guinevere had taken Elayne to a small clearing where bags of food and clothes and weapons lay strewn about. By a small fire sat another young woman with sun streaked blond hair in a long braid. She was dressed in the same leather armor as Guinevere, pumped and ready for battle. Guinevere sat down next to her, allowing Elayne to join. Guinevere introduced Elayne to the girl. The young woman nodded in response, her eyes darting to the pot of boiling water back to the knife she was sharpening. Elayne felt out of place, numb with the recent words that were shared.

"The knights are leaving," she stated to no one in particular. Guinevere awkwardly nodded, dipping a rag in the hot water and handed it to Elayne.

"To wash your neck," she said simply. "Untie your dress and lets see how your back is doing." Elayne unclasped the sleeves, wrapping the robe from Merlin along her chest while Guinevere dabbed warm water on her back to gather the blood. Elayne felt the girl watch Guinevere with alert, curious eyes, following her hand run down Elayne's back. Guinevere pointed to a bag amongst the pile.

"Minera," she pronounced the name and spoke in the Woad tongue. Elayne rubbed the dried blood from her neck, spying Minera return with vials and small glass bottles of ointment and herbs. Elayne felt beneath the cloth the many cuts along her neck from so many terrifying moments where she almost faced death. Guinevere uncorked a bottle and Elayne's nose was engrossed with similar smells of the balms that Dagonet had used. Dagonet! She suddenly remembered the day with Jolkar in the forest when they hid from Cynric and she had first heard of Dagonet's state.

"Will Dagonet live?" Elayne asked suddenly, her voice worried. She glanced at Guinevere's puzzling look when the other didn't quickly reply. "Jolkar and I overheard the retreating Saxons say that they almost killed him." Guinevere went back to spreading the balm that stung at Elayne's back.

"Yes, but he needs much rest to heal and should stay in bed. But Bors refused to leave his friend behind." Elayne smiled, caught in the reverie of remembering how close the knights were.

"Why will none of them stay with Arthur? Not even Lancelot?" Elayne suddenly piped up. Guinevere's face was a mixture of infuriation and grief.

"Arthur wants his men to be free. It would kill him to see them slain in a battle they wouldn't need to fight in. I understand his reasoning but the man can sometimes be so lost in his pride." Guinevere said the words sternly, like daggers slashing through Arthur's deepest wounds, making Elayne wonder just how much Guinevere cared for Arthur. "I couldn't leave him on his own." Guinevere tossed the rag aside, picking through a bag to find suitable clothes. Elayne thought of Galahad, Gawain and Tristan. They won't leave Arthur. Elayne retied her gown. Her hand flashed out quickly to catch Guinevere's, stopping Guinevere in her wild search.

"I will fight by your side tomorrow," Elayne declared without thought or decision. Guinevere's distraught face melted, her aggressive side kicked in. Her heart bounced about in joy and anticipation for the coming dawn. Guinevere remembered the first day she had met Elayne. _Perhaps we can make a difference,_ she had said. _For now Saxons, Woads and Sarmatians come together. _

"I shall find you proper clothing," she considered Elayne's lean size. "A set of daggers will suit you nicely. Are you strong with a bow?" Elayne nodded with an overjoyed expression, like a child eager to be up and running. Guinevere also clasped her hands together in impatience. "Good. Minera," the tall girl had a springy step and quickly stood up. "Come with me. Don't worry Elayne, we'll be back." Guinevere and Minera bounded into the trees, leaving Elayne alone to tend to the small fire. The silence was shattered only by the small cough and sputters of the fire next to her and Elayne gladly drank it all in to collect her thoughts. The logs collapsed, sending up dancing sparks that floated into the dark sky. Elayne could already smell the arid smoke of burning hay. Her mind swam with sleep and hunger, but she really only sought out one thing. Galahad.

She could imagine him in battle, spurring his horse and wielding his lance. She could see the wind throw back his thick curls; hear his voice scream into the air. The way he made sharp, quick thrusts to cut down his enemies, his eyes blazing with a hatred for all he did, but that only made him more vicious. She heard the twang of the bowstring, the sharp snap of the arrows that whizzed by. Tristan reared his horse in, unsheathing his long saber and leaping like a cat into the burly Saxons. She could picture him cutting the Saxons throats, covered in blood not his own, spinning with no effort in his loins. She wanted to rush to him and leap into his arms, her lips smashing against his. Elayne shook her head, her thoughts jumbled. No! Her mind became confused. It was Galahad she'd kiss not…Tristan.

The fatigue of the days flooding over her and she curled into a ball, the fur robe clutched in her hands and around her body, warming the chill brought on by the voice of war. The notion that she could die tomorrow and not even see Galahad or Tristan again didn't cross her mind. She wanted to wade in Saxon blood, breath it in, fill her lungs until she was satisfied. Tears of anger and spite, raw hatred filled her eyes as she thought of how he roughly held her, laughed down at her and used her. Elayne felt her insides churn at the memory of spending nights and months waiting, sore and wounded, for the Saxon that raped her to return. And each moment with him was a hellish nightmare she couldn't escape. She wanted to see him choke and die, she wanted to kill him with the dagger he stole.

Elayne knuckled her eyes, wiping away the tears. Her lips trembled as she gazed longingly into the fire. The flames dancing in her eyes, illuminating the scattered emotions she felt at one moment. Her wariness caused her to turn around, facing the enchanted woods. _Merlin_, her mind called. _Is that you? _The wind made the leaves crackle and snap against one another, whispers in the night. The warmth of the fire called back to her. Elayne shifted her gaze and in a deep breath faced dark eyes that disarmed her of any courage. Locnar squatted down across the fire from her. Elayne's eyes were down cast, though she was unable to relinquish to his hatred. His neck cracked and he bent down more to look at her face. Elayne raised her eyes in defiance to his churlish glances.

"Guinevere says you'll fight tomorrow Saxon," Locnar assumed. "A betrayer to your own people."

"I do not betray those who wished me dead," Elayne snapped back. Locnar gave her a charming smile. He sighed as he sat down, digging his finger into the dirt. He threw more kindle into the fire.

"So it is true then, what Merlin says of you?" The barriers of dislike that Locnar held up became unstable. The unaltered stare Elayne mirrored made him consider if he could trust her. Locnar's firm jaw told her he would refuse to apologize, but wouldn't treat her like chattel. When he looked back up to Elayne, her face was serene.

"You lack the will to back up your convictions," Elayne said in a clever tone. "Once you find out the truth." Locnar's eyes lit up though his smile fell. He ruffled his hair through his hands, his body suddenly tired and weighed down. The silence made Elayne uneasy and she wasn't ready to make Locnar an enemy again. "What do you have against the Saxons? They're not just an enemy to you." The hard way Elayne spoke made Locnar turn away and wince. His rasped breath made him bite his lip. When he looked back, his eyes were like fire.

"Merlin told me to let the past die, but there are some things that can never be forgotten." Locnar withdrew the Roman blade he had taken, his eyes running down the metal knife. "You will need this tomorrow." He tossed it by Elayne's feet and stood up. "I've never fought with a Saxon before." Elayne didn't know how to respond to that. "Jolkar trusts you," he mumbled. "Merlin told us about what happened to you." His warm face made Elayne feel more secure. "The knight you love, _Galahad_," he said the name slowly to pronounce it correctly. "Will understand why you did the things you did." Locnar gestured his head to leave and drifted back into the shadows. From behind Elayne Guinevere emerged, carrying an armload of leather attire and weapons. Seeing Elayne's astonished face and her secretive and quiet eyes, Guinevere sat down next to her.

"You should get some rest," she advised. Elayne numbly nodded, a wistful expression in her eyes. "Locnar has suffered greatly. In a Saxon skirmish, he lost the lady he loved with all his heart." Elayne was compelled to say a silent prayer of sympathy for Locnar's sorrows. "He knows how much you look up to Galahad and Tristan. He believes Arthur will be a great leader of kingdoms."

"And with men like Locnar, Arthur's kingdom will be great," Elayne responded.


	23. A New Dawn

Chapter 22- A New Dawn

Dawn rose in a clouded haze of smoke and with it the sense of a new beginning. There was a somnolent mood all around. The beating drums echoed in the air and instead of quickening fright, hearts were full of boldness. The fires were layered with globs of tar that let off a poisoning scent and thick black smog. Clean water poured down and refreshed the body, sending chills down one's spine. Blue paint was mixed together, the ghostly hue slathered in a bowl. In his quarters, Galahad woke in what he thought was a dream. He was leaving Arthur to his death. To him there was no greater punishment. Galahad shuddered as he imagined witnessing the scene. His commander, his leader, the man who would give his life for his knights for fifteen years was now doing it when his men were free. Galahad wanted to wake up and save the stubborn man. But to Galahad's dismay, this wasn't a dream.

He rose out of bed and caught the fresh whiff of burning hay, tickling and burning the inside of his nose. Galahad sniffed in disgust and ran his fingers through his knotted curls. _I don't kill for pleasure…_His own words came back to him. Galahad suddenly thought differently as he gave the field of gray smoke a contemptuous leer, knowing who waited on the other side. Now he did, more than ever he wanted to run down the Saxons, blame them for every misfortune that had happened in the past days. There was much needed revenge for Dagonet and Elayne. He wanted to know Elayne was alive, and leave it at that. He needed to get out of here, off this island that had suffocated the life out of him for years. The land he had dreamed of for so long, the home he had left behind, now waited earnestly for him. Yet Galahad still felt he was going empty handed.

Making this harder than it should have been, Galahad tenaciously threw his bags back on the stone ground, grasping his armor chest plate in his hands. His sword and helmet gleamed at him at his side and Galahad rubbed his fingers along the breastplate, the cool metal making his skin prickle at the thought of wearing it. An impassable wave of anguish washed through him. _I'll never wield a sword again when I return to Sarmatia. _Galahad shook his head of the assumption, his eyes glittering with slight amusement. _Bors was right; it's a part of me. _Galahad always wanted to go home, marry, have sons and eventually die knowing he lived his life the way he wanted. He would be full of so much happiness that he would forget the fifteen years he was Rome's slave.

But now he wanted to ride out once more, to fight like he had never fought before. Galahad knew that if he were to have died in battle, than his name would be remembered for centuries and he would die in honor, a soldier's death. He could die saving Elayne, with her rushing to him in shock, mumbling over and over not to leave her. He knew Elayne would never do it, but for just one moment he thought of saying he loved her that day in the woods, in that tent and then would die a knight.

A rap came at the door and Gawain poked his head into the room. Galahad vaguely acknowledged his presence and Gawain sauntered in, hefting his belongings with him. Gawain watched his friend fiddle with his armor, gaze longingly at his sword.

"I just," Galahad tried to find the words. "I guess I never tried to imagine leaving with the knights without armor on, without weapons at our sides. But just to…ride. It almost feels so…so…"

"Wrong," Gawain finished. Galahad looked up, wishing he could think differently, but Gawain was right and that was the only way to describe it. Gawain dropped his bags and sat down next to Galahad. He felt the same way and took a wistful look at his ax.

"I never thought about leaving Arthur. Nothing will be the same." Galahad's eyes were locked on his sword and he nodded to Gawain's words. "But think of the life we can now live," Gawain said in exhilaration. He knew his friend thought differently. "You know, Tristan spoke of staying here a few days, to find Elayne. If you want to stay, I'll…I'll understand." Galahad faced his companion for half his life, looking at him through dark curls. His long, twisted reddish hair had grown so long, but it was really Gawain's face that astounded Galahad. Gawain had spent longer than anyone his life bound to Rome's service. But it was this gleam in his eye, the filial actions and the way he knew how to keep spirits up that would make him still so young.

"No Gawain, much as I want to see Elayne, I can't stay behind," Galahad said it deliberately, as if he had to make himself believe it. He clamped his friend's shoulder. "Besides, with all those beautiful woman you always spoke of, I can't let you have all the fun."

* * *

Guinevere's delicate fingers swept down Elayne's cheek, wiping cold, wet blue paint in a winding design on her face. Elayne closed her eyes, though she was courageous, she still feared what today could bring. Neither of the young women desired to converse of Arthur and his knights. While Guinevere remained clam and collected, Elayne felt jittery with the built up anger and retribution she wished to take out on the battlefield. Guinevere ran her hands through water, the blue paint wiping off. She took a small brush of horsehair and began applying a small design on the beginning of Elayne's chest. In her mind's eye she watched the design being drawn and recognized it instantly.

"Courage…" Elayne murmured under her breath. It was the design on the clasp of the cloak Tristan gave her. She heard him say the same words; a small smile touched her lips.

"Hmmm," Guinevere hummed over Elayne's shoulder. "What did you say?"

"The symbol, it means courage," Elayne replied. "Tristan gave me a clasp with the same symbol." Guinevere indicated the cloak.

"I know," she answered simply. Elayne opened her eyes to find the bundle of dark fabric tucked under her weapons and bow. The clothing had become a part of her, in the frigid days of winter kept her warm in the mountains. Her lips tingled and she licked them fervently, tasting the remains of the dried bread from morning. Her mind escaped back into the woods, when Tristan turned and grasped her lovingly. Would she ever see them again? Elayne knew her thoughts were absurd, her whole world changing. It scared her that she wasn't afraid to go into battle, that the memories of her father seemed so long ago when it was only weeks and that she wanted to see Galahad safe more than Tristan. Guinevere finished painting the symbol, admiring her handiwork.

The young women both turned when Merlin appeared, his long staff in his hands. He wore the long robe Elayne returned, and his face was a dark blue, a sharp contrast to Guinevere's pale form. The heavy color made Merlin look all the more menacing and Elayne understood the origin of Merlin the dark sorcerer.

"It is time," he spoke curtly. Guinevere and Elayne briskly sheathed their long knives and tied their arrows and bows to their backs. Elayne felt slightly naked in the plain and fresh leather clothes provided to her. Guinevere had found her a similar leather bodice, however this one was longer, stopping above her hips and lacing tightly in the front. The hard leather clung protectively to her chest, but with the short cut leggings and thick belt, still half of her long torso was bare. Her arms were chilled from the bite of the morning air; her feet snug in a brown pair of boots that tied up past her calves.

"These make it easier to run in," Guinevere had explained earlier. Elayne's thick loose blond waves of hair were tightly bound up, but already little snippets framed her face. Elayne's pale skin was tanner than the Woads but Elayne declined to blend in with them completely. It felt out of place. Besides, Elayne wanted to find only one Saxon among thousands, and she wanted to make sure he'd still recognize her. Elayne tucked the Roman dagger in the holster sewed to the inside of her boot and grabbed the bag full of clean leather clothes and her crimson dress. Ruefully, Elayne rolled up her cloak and stuffed it in when Merlin's hand snatched hers in midair.

"You will not need that." Elayne shook her head in protest.

"I need to leave these with someone," she answered. Merlin seemed inexorable and unconvinced, but finally let go.

"Elayne," he spoke her name in his Woad accent. She looked up to him, like a devoted daughter to her father. "You don't have to fight. You can find Artorius and his knights," Merlin suggested with great persuasion in his voice. Elayne slung her bag over her shoulder.

"No I want to. My lord," Elayne hesitated, wondering if Merlin would understand. Guinevere looked at Elayne's back, where the red hideous gashes criss-crossed her smooth skin. It reminded Guinevere of similar scars she felt on Arthur's arms and back. "There is a part of my past that needs to end and needs to end by my hand."

* * *

The horses clomped along; the smoke stinging their eyes but that didn't rile them. What agitated them were their riders, how they didn't carry the weight of weapons and shields, heavy armor. They didn't hear the war calls, the cries of insanity or the jangle of chain mail. They just bore their masters, like they had done for fifteen years before. The knights were all stoic and silent, but their faces were caught on one person. In the haze of the smoke, a tiny form of flaying flag, master and beast sat Arthur on top of Badon Hill. The knights all rode slowly in the back of the caravan, where ahead Dagonet slept in a cart, his head cradled by Vanora and surrounded by her brood of children. Only Lancelot refused to stare directly at Arthur but took quick glances from beneath his curls, his eyes in slits of fury. He felt ashamed, as if he had betrayed Arthur.

_Seize the freedom you have earned, I can't follow you Lancelot! _Arthur's words, only made Lancelot hate his decision even more. But no argue, no plea, could change that. Galahad's good humor immediately was crushed when he trotted by the hill and saw Arthur. Gawain looked up in admiration, but still deeply saddened. Villagers that wished to remain to fight ran around in haste and chaos, gathering weapons and lighting more fires. The black smoke swirled thickly into the sky, obscuring the army of Saxons that had spread the hill like a plague. In the front of the caravan, led by Roman soldiers, rode the over narcissistic Bishop Germanius, and in the fine silk covered carriage sat Alecto and his mother. Alecto looked out to Arthur with wide awed eyes and Fulcinia held Alecto's hand for solace. Bors and Tristan took the rear, Bors scowling up at Arthur and Tristan staring like an aware child, though a stab of pity and anger tore at his heart. His hawk was rooted to his arm, and every once in awhile chirped unpleasantly. Tristan rubbed the backs of his fingers against the ruffled feathers, remembering when Elayne had gingerly held her hand out for the bird.

Bors looked back up at Arthur and finally found his courage. The heads of all the knights turned as Bors withdrew his broad sword. Vanora held a hand to her face, a gasp in disbelief. Bors ignored them and kicked his horse to a quick trot, advancing into the dark smoke. His grieved filled face lit up with exultation.

"Artorius!" he bellowed. The knights all watched in bemused wonder. In the distance the shape of Arthur could be seen shifting to face his knights. Bors saw the gesture. He slammed his sword to his chest and raised it high into the air. "Ruuuuussssss!" The long yell lingered in the air till it reached Arthur's ears and then it faded. The knights' mild faces waited and suddenly Arthur's banner flapped high into the air.

"Ruuuuusssss!" he called back, his voice powerful and clinging to sadness. It was almost like a plea for help. His green eyes filled with tears as the echo of his voice drifted off. Bors gave a nod of his head and fled back to the knights.

"We're damned fools, you'll all know it right?" The knights moved edgy in their shadows, hanging their heads. Bors sheathed his sword. "Damned to the greatest depths of hell," he muttered under his breath.


	24. Fight Free

Chapter 23- Fight Free

The archers all lined up, but Elayne hung back, her heart beating in a rapid, chaotic fit. Her eyes scanned the hazy hills, over the wall to where the Saxons stood. She could find Cerdic and Cynric with another man standing in the open field in the front of the enormous line. Elayne knew that the third man was the British spy, the one that she had used in her then captivating plan, the one that now was a torturous imprint within her soul. Anguish ran through her body as all her blunders resulted in this moment, she was broken again and berated herself inside. Guinevere took a quick look over her shoulder, her eyes looking Elayne's way with a mild look. Elayne's thoughts were scattered by the sound of the distant hoof beats, followed by the wild whines and the thundering steps of the frightened horses.

The drumming droned louder and no one heard Elayne scamper off, running with haste and speed through the trees, hoping she wouldn't be too late. But the caravan had stopped, with the knights calming their horses. Elayne breathed a sigh of relief, crouching down and inching closer to the caravan in a fast sprint. Germanius' eyes grew wide at the sight of the terrifying creature Elayne had become, and he quickly signaled to the soldiers. Elayne slowed to a walk, bringing herself upright and slowly lifting her hands to prove she meant no wrong, yet her eyes still glared hotly and challengingly at the Roman guards.

"No!" Alecto, smart, young Alecto, lifted his hand to momentarily pause the guards in their tracks. Fulcinia's eyes grew wide in astonishment. "Stop," Alecto ordered strongly. The men dutifully sheathed their weapons, staring with haughty glares as Elayne sneakily shambled by, giving Alecto a quick nod of thanks. Creeping around the carts one by one, Elayne came face to face with a small chubby face that peeked down at her.

"Momma, look!" The little girl's tiny fingers poked through the wood right at Elayne. A woman with long red hair and pink cheeks looked over the cart. Her eyes grew wide not only by the fierce, savage look the young woman had, but by the beauty. Vanora looked Elayne up and down, knowing who it was by the accurate description that Bors had given her. Elayne put a finger to her lips and Vanora understood and begun to shush her excited brood of children. She grabbed her daughter that still was mesmerized by Elayne, revealing the huge mass within the huge caravan. Dagonet lay in a heap of blankets, his face still partially stained in blood and dirt. His skin was a ghastly pale, giving the knight the appearance of death. His scar made him look so feral running down his eye, but his face was still held the gentle gaze. Filled with renewed strength to avenge Dagonet, Elayne's face was plastered with a wicked smile and a leaping heart as she walked to face the knights.

* * *

A loud rumble shook the earth, the blaring of the Saxon drums starling the horses. The knights fervently gripped the reins as the horses whined sharply, dancing and jumping about. The knights pulled on the reins, steering their horses away from the hill where Arthur sat. The horses still sensed the bellicosity that had remained but seemed lost to their masters, wanted desperate to rekindle the feel of battle. The knights looked at one another as their horses meandered around in the grass, impatient to be off. Lancelot's horse backed up till he finally pulled sharply, rubbing his horse down meticulously. Galahad steered his horse to an abrupt halt and Tristan faltered for the reins, jabbing his horse with his heels to make it stand still. The beasts eventually calmed, the knights cooing words into their ears. Lancelot whispered in Sarmatian and felt his horse's flanks tense and then relax. The bizarre moment made him look back up at the knights with a gleam in his eye. They all sensed it and Gawain looked back to Arthur with a distinct grin. Tristan rose his arm, clicked his tongue, getting his bird's attention.

"Hey, you're free." He rose his arm high and forcefully. The bird took flight and Tristan watched it disappear into the smoke. Lancelot looked to each knight, even to Dagonet, who opened his eyes and took a feeble look up. His eyes glistened with zealous determination. Bors looked to Vanora, who gave her lover a small smile but urged him on. Galahad laughed at the others as he patted his horse and leaped off, running to the cart where Jols had stored their weapons and armor, banner and lances. Tristan looked back up to the sky and jumped off his horse. He passed a smiling but tearful Vanora and saw a flash of blue duck behind the cart. Tristan stayed rooted to the spot, craning his head to see the figure again, but skipped back over to the other knights that were preparing for battle. _Probably one of Bors' bastards_.

Gawain strapped his belt around his waist, holstering an ax and blade. Galahad was buckling his breast plate, grinning from ear to ear. Bors was strapping his knives to his sides, grabbing a small ax as well, his face exuberant for battle. Lancelot was already dressed, his two broad swords on his back and began dressing his horse in the light but dangerous armor. Tristan pulled out his strongest bow, looking with one eye to the sky and pulling back on the string. Something caught his attention, and when he lowered the bow, Elayne stood in front of him. The wind took hold of her long hair, sending wisps of it gracefully around her face, like water falling coolly of rocks. Tristan gazed into her stormy eyes, lingering feelings leaped back and forth like lightning as she stepped forward, all agony had flown from her face. Tristan couldn't breathe, his mind leading him to blink wildly to insure himself it was true. Elayne came within inches of him, her fingers lightly grazing his arm, and floating up to the tattooed cheeks. Tristan grasped the hand, kissing it fervently. Elayne's face crumbled, her eyes belied the truth she felt.

"Tristan, I--" she stopped, wanting the momentary silence and actions to fill with all her thoughts and feelings, and interlock with how Tristan was strikingly responding to her. His lips were light, gentle and graceful on her fingers. Elayne felt her throat choke, but managed to force out her words. "I can't-" "I know," he whispered back. His eyes twinkled flourishing exuberance and an understanding formed. "Go to him, " Tristan whispered. Elayne breathed a sigh, a disarming look making Tristan's face light up.

"Thank you Tristan." Elayne held Tristan's gaze until he motioned to Galahad, who was standing with his back towards them and unknowing that Elayne was even present. Elayne gave Tristan a sly smile and he cocked an eyebrow playfully. "I though you'd be halfway home to Sarmatia by now." Galahad and the others spun around and came face to face with Tristan holding the hands of the beautiful, deadly Woad warrior, her hair a shimmering brown, her eyes like the raging skies above. Galahad's mouth hung open, his eyes blinking, mimicking Tristan's earlier disbelief. Bors smirked, nudged Gawain in the ribs, who stared at his friend's dumbfounded face. Lancelot held his witty grin in hilarity, not the least bit amazed, though his eyes scanned Elayne's semi- bare body, his mind traveling to other thoughts that could make the girl blush.

Tristan's eyes twinkled as Elayne held tightly onto his hand, her eyes glistening with tears and happiness. "I saw your bird," she whispered with as much pain as Tristan felt, as if they had lost the greatest companion. His hand drifted down her back.

"It will find its freedom, I have no doubt." Tristan gave a quick smile, slowly guiding her with his hand to where Galahad still stood. Elayne felt her feet move without her knowledge. The whole world disappeared, stripped away besides Galahad, who stood with glittering eyes. It was all a blur as she ran into Galahad's arms, smothering his lips with hers. He hesitated for a second, taken by surprise and then greedily encased her in his embrace. Elayne could sense his regret, his sorrow and his freedom, and she gave back the agony, the mystery and the happiness that she felt to him. His hands flew around her body, twining around her waist, gripping her hair. Galahad refused to let her go as the kiss grew more passionate, more wild with feelings. Elayne finally felt her feet fall to the ground as Galahad lowered her, though he still clung tightly to the love in his arms. He brushed aside a lock of hair, transfixed and smitten, unable to let her go now that he finally had her.

Suddenly the world came rushing back to them. Her Woad attire was now vibrant in color, his armor cold and hard. The smoke blistered the sky, the sun setting a hellish glow over the coming scene. The knights shuffled back and forth in impatience, the drumming grew more menacing. Arthur's flag still gallantly floating along the wind, the knight sitting motionless upon the hill, wrapped in glory.

"I want to see you alive on that battlefield," she whispered. Galahad's face dropped down to her leather clad body, where knives were strapped, hidden and open to the world.

"Please don't," he began firmly, but there would be no point in the wrangling fight.

"I have to," she tartly retorted. Her eyes gazed into his deep blue ones. She brushed away a curl, and his eyes suddenly blazed with a laden ferocity. Galahad's brashness returned and he quickly swept her in a last embrace before unwrapping his arms, roughly walking to his horse and jumping on it. Grabbing a lance, his horse dancing around him in uncontained anticipation, he galloped up to the hill, following Lancelot's already speeding horse towards Arthur. Elayne turned to Bors and Gawain, who were climbing onto their mounts and readying themselves for the battle ahead.

"First a Saxon, then a Sarmatian, now a Woad," Bors said, glancing at Galahad who had already succumbed to turning back and looking down at Elayne. "Do you never make up you're mind girl?" he laughed defiantly.

"Just don't get cocky out there," Elayne whipped back with. Bors snorted, noticing Vanora's watchful eye, lifting a playful eyebrow.

"Never do, got all the cock I need," Bors yelled before spinning his horse around and rushing up to Arthur, his arms raised and his cries echoing across the sky. Gawain hurriedly climbed his horse, looking down at Elayne.

"Watch over Galahad for me." Gawain licked his lips nervously, nodding with great anticipation. The last of the knights flags unfurled in the wind as Gawain galloped up to Arthur. The symbols and emblems all contained dangerous creatures, brave and strong. The knights would be a mighty force and with this assurance Elayne crept quickly back into the woods, caught with delight by the splendor of the knights, their glinting armor and their colorful banners. In the lead still was Lancelot, and as Elayne sprinted back into the dark trees, she watched him gallop up to Arthur in urgency.

_Fight free Lancelot…_


End file.
